


Aim to Misbehave

by lanri, stormbrite



Category: Firefly, Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Firefly Setting, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Sam Winchester Big Bang 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-26 15:32:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9908876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanri/pseuds/lanri, https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormbrite/pseuds/stormbrite
Summary: Supernatural, but set in the Firefly ‘verse. A story of two boys, searching for their father. In space. Fighting cannibalistic monsters. This will go well.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr masterpost: http://lan-ri.tumblr.com/post/157821200873/aim-to-misbehave-by-lanriartist-stormbrite-for  
> Stormbrite LJ post: http://stormbrite.livejournal.com/27246.html
> 
>  
> 
> Shoutouts to my amazing artist, Stormbrite, who somehow didn’t kill me for all the dumb edits I asked for. Also my gang of betas I recruited at the last second: jennytork, anibutterfly, lillelouis, hollyhobbit101 who were spectacular and caught so many of the silly things I did and gave me great advice. You guys are the best!!!
> 
> So as a quick caveat before you start reading: this is Supernatural set in the Firefly universe. No characters from Firefly are involved, this is entirely focused on SamnDean. Spoilers for both shows, obviously. I did my best to explain aspects of the Firefly universe for anyone who hasn’t seen that show (which, well, you should go now and watch it do it do it do it) but chances are there may be a few things that are still confusing. If ever confused, think cowboys in space. 
> 
> I also want to go ahead and apologize for my crappy chinese. Chances are pretty high that some of it’s wrong, since I’m only going off of a few semesters of chinese in undergrad and google translate. Yeah, not proud of that. 
> 
> Anyway that’s all for now: enjoy!

 

 

"Here's how it is: Earth got used up, so we moved out and terraformed a whole new galaxy of Earths, some rich and flush with new technologies, some not so much. The Central Planets, them as formed the Alliance, waged war to bring everyone under their rule; a few idiots tried to fight it, among them my father. I'm Dean Winchester, captain of the Impala. She’s a transport ship, Firefly class. Got my brother ridin’ on with me, piloting and keeping us flying. We’re looking for answers, keeping an ear out for our father and hunting down some reavers along the way. You got a job, the Winchesters can do it; don't much care what it is."

* * *

_“G’night, sweetie.” Mary kissed John softly and he smiled at her._

_“We flying in a week?” he checked._

_“Uh huh. Take Sammy on his first tour of the ‘verse.” She grinned at her husband._

_“Won’t that be somethin’. Ain’t been more than six months since we settled down for a spell, but I’m itching to get moving.”_

_Mary’s smile faltered. “It’s been six months?”_

_“Next week, actually.”_

_“John, us flying out . . . you promise not to stir anyone else up?”_

_John played coy. “I don’t know what you mean.”_

_Mary sighed. “Sweetie, you still wear the Independence brown coat, and your gorram cocky manner . . . Something’s gotta give so you don’t get our boys in trouble.”_

_John stood and reeled Mary in to his arms. “Alright, I promise. No getting in fights with the locals on this job.”_

_“Or the feds?” Mary checked._

_“Or the feds,” John said agreeably._

_The sharp ring of the doorbell made Mary jump, causing John’s eyes to narrow._

_“You’re a mite twitchy this evening,” he commented._

_Mary managed to find a smile. “Guess I’m a little nervous about taking jobs again, with two boys instead of one.”_

_“Mmm. Should I get that?”_

_“I’ve got it.” Mary couldn’t fight the feeling of trepidation in her stomach as she went to the door. She knew what they wanted, and she wouldn’t give in. Not anymore._

_“It is time for Samuel’s treatment.”_

_The black coats and blue gloves didn’t scare Mary, but they did make her realize her precarious position. “No.”_

_“You would refuse us?”_

_“We’re leaving next week, so it’s not an issue anymore, anyway. Besides, you had him for three nights, and you said you just needed Sam’s blood for the initial tests.” Mary didn’t blink at the man’s cold gaze, though her eyes watered._

_“I see. Zai jian.” The two of them bowed, leaving Mary uncertain and slightly lost._

_“Who was it?” John called._

_Mary swallowed. “Nobody, dear.”_

_The night was dark and silent, meaning that the distinctive, electronic noise of an opening window was loud. Mary was out of her bed in a heartbeat, stopping by Dean’s room momentarily to ensure he was there before moving to Sam’s._

_The figure she saw was expected, but not welcome._

_“You,” she spat._

_The man smiled. “You should’ve left well enough alone, Mary Winchester,” he said softly. He snapped his gloved fingers._

_The last thing she knew was Sam’s cry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is very much a labor of love; I've had bits and pieces in the works for years now, but never worked up the courage to post. Combining the Winchesters and Firefly . . . two of my favorite things. To be honest, I wanted this to be an epic 100k story, but it was not going to happen, so I decided instead to give myself a deadline through the SWBig Bang and go from there. Please let me know what you think! and Enjoy :)


	2. Pilot

Sam sighed, tapping the document so the Chinese characters froze on the page.

“Sam, are you trying to explode your brain again?”

“Maybe.”

Jess wrapped a warm arm around him, kissing the side of his head. “I told you. That’s my brain to explode, you aren’t allowed to explode it.”

“Got it.” Sam leaned into her embrace, closing his eyes. “Med school is going to kill me.”

“Please. Like anything could kill you.” Jess tugged on his hair. “I got a wave from my sister, inviting us over to Bellerophon. Orbit’s right, so it’d be a quick flight through space.”

Sam frowned. “I never liked that planet,” he confessed. “Too wet.”

“Yeah, well, you need to play nice with my family. For me?”

Jess had him and she knew it. “Okay,” he sighed. “Not a long trip.”

“You ever want to visit your family?”

“Smooth, but not smooth enough, Jessica Moore.” Sam poked her in the side, standing. “You get one favor from me today, that’s all.”

She pouted a little. “Excuse me for wanting to meet them.”

“It’s been over four years, Jess. Chances are, you never will.” Sam swallowed down the way his chest contracted at the thought and straightened up his notes.

Without warning, his girlfriend wrapped him in a hug. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop pushing.”

“No, Jess, it’s fine.” He relaxed. “It’s just . . . difficult.”

“Wo zhidao.” She squeezed a little tighter before releasing him.

“What would I do without you?”

“Crash and burn.” She hesitated. “You know you can tell me anything, dui bu dui?”

He nodded, feeling guilt heavy in his stomach. For one moment, he imagined opening his mouth to say, ‘yes, Jess, I lived on a ship running through the rim, chasing down bounties and reavers and generally committing crimes every single day. Let’s talk about your childhood now.’

Instead, he smiled blandly. “I know.”

She gave him one more searching look before turning away. “I’m going to take a shower and go to bed. One more hour of studying and you join me.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Their night passed like any other. Sam wasn’t sure what was different, but when he woke up in the middle of the night, body clenched with tension, he knew something was wrong. He slowly rose, opening up the security panel to see that one window had been breached.

Sam slid out of their room, closing the door behind him.

He was attacked without warning. The intruder sent him to the floor, twisting his arm behind his back. Sam knew how that move would end, and acted before it was too late by kneeing the man in the stomach to shove him away.

“Not bad, little brother.”

Sam froze, giving the man enough time to get him in a chokehold. He fought for all his worth until he heard a warm chuckle. “Forgot how pissed you get when I nearly beat you.”

“Dean?” He was released. Sam stared dumbly at his brother. “What are you doing here?”

“I need your help.” 

* * *

 Sam managed to fend off Jess’s curiosity for long enough to get Dean outside the apartment. The bright night lights of Ariel illuminated their strange rendezvous.

“Dean, go to Boros. Get a pilot, maybe an extra gunhand and you’ll be fine,” Sam said logically. “You can find Dad without me.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to.” Dean’s eyes were focused in a way that Sam could remember all too easily from tough hunts.

Sam looked away. “Hell, he’s probably just drunk and his ship’s been towed.”

“This is legit, Sam. I got a wave across the cortex, and it may be garbled, but it definitely had something to do with reavers. Maybe even Mom.”

“Maybe?” Sam asked sharply.

“I wouldn’t’ve come if it wasn’t serious, Sam. You know how Dad’s always said the Alliance was the one behind the reavers: If that’s true, we’ve got to keep this close, only with us.” Dean’s face was alive with fervor.

Sam rubbed a hand across his mouth, glancing back towards the room, towards Jess.

Dean grinned as soon as Sam looked at him. Apparently, Sam was still an easy read for his brother. “Pack your things, Sammy,” he said. “Job waits for no one.”

Sam groaned, but was already moving. “It’s Sam,” he muttered half-heartedly, but he already knew that was a battle he wouldn’t win.

Jess was practically vibrating with energy once Sam came back inside. “What’d he say? What’s going on?”

“We’re going to Persephone. To see if we can find my dad.” Sam bit his tongue, trying to figure out if he should say anything else.

“Can I come?”

Sam shook his head sharply. “I’m not sure what’s going on. Could be dangerous. Plus, don’t you have to work?”

Jess scowled. “If I let you do this, will you explain when you get back?”

Sam nodded. “I’ll tell you. I promise.”

Jess spit on her palm and grasped Sam’s hand. “We have a deal.”

“You sure you’re from Osiris?” Sam grinned. “I could swear you’re from the rim.”

“I’ll never tell.” She got up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “You come back safe, and we talk, hao ma?”

Sam nodded. “I’ll miss you,” he whispered, kissing her goodbye.

She smiled at him. “Wo ai ni.” 

* * *

 When Sam stepped into the Impala, it was too easy to come back to the beaten-up Firefly and feel like he was home. He brushed his hand across the railing, feeling the low vibrations of the engine welcome him.

“Get a move on, geekboy,” Dean crowed, jogging up the ramp. Sam gave a perfunctory roll of his eyes, but then glanced narrowly at Dean.

“You’ve been sailing her alone?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Dean tossed out, like it was nothing. Sam frowned unhappily. It was idiotic riding solo through space, especially in an older vessel built for a crew of at least three, if not four.

“I figured you’d had a pilot that got you here, at least. How did you manage the engine at the same time?”

Dean scowled at him. “I’ve flown her by myself before.”

“You’re a terrible pilot, though,” Sam pointed out.

“That’s what you’re for,” Dean said. “You gonna help me or not, mu gou.”

“Hun dan,” Sam returned easily. His emotions were a mix of nostalgia and resentment and affection. He turned away, heading through the ship to get to the bridge.

“Miss me?” he crooned as he swung himself into the pilot’s chair. Sam was always the one calling the Impala a piece of fei wu and jerking his brother about, just because. Still, that didn’t mean he didn’t secretly love their ship.

The inter-com rasped to life. “Get her in the air already, Sam!”

Aside from some slight turbulence, Sam took to the sky without a problem. Dean would probably still give him grief over it, as always.

“Nice work,” Dean smirked as he perched in the co-pilot’s chair.

“Shut up.”

“Dad told me he was working a job on Persephone.”

Sam broke atmo, switching the ship into outer space settings.

“And you have no idea why he went out of contact?” he asked.

Dean nodded. “Nope. I just know it was a bounty hunt and something about cargo. His message mentioned reavers, but nothing more.”

Something cruel about their father leapt to the tip of Sam’s tongue, but he swallowed it back, keeping his gaze focused forward. He’d agreed to going with Dean to find their missing father, yes, but the real reason was the desperation in his brother’s gaze. It wasn’t Dean’s fault John was the way he was.

Dean left to check the engine, leaving Sam to drink in the sight of the stars as he flew. In Ariel, the lights were too bright, drowning out the night sky unless you took a quick trip off-planet. He’d missed this.

A racket started up over the inter-com and Sam jumped.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“It’s Sam,” he returned. “What in the ‘verse is that?”

“Called music, moron, what do you think it is?”

“More like noise. Keep it up and I’ll switch the com off,” he threatened.

“Shut your cakehole or I’ll play it while you sleep.”

“Ni hen mafan,” Sam growled. He hadn’t used the myriad of Chinese insults that were common in all the outer rings for a few years now. The core liked to keep things more civilized, using Chinese mainly for business dealings due to the roots from earth-that-was. He figured Dean would appreciate it.

His mild insult got him a laugh over the inter-com. Sam didn’t have to hide his smile as he let the Impala have a little more power.

* * *

“Persephone’s coming up.”

“Who’s your point of contact?”

Dean pursed his lips. “Only know of a drop point. Talked to some informants, Dad was definitely taking care of a bounty hunting job and some loose cargo when he went out of contact.”

“Couldn’t they have been more helpful?” Sam asked sullenly.

Dean ignored his complaining with a twitch of his broad shoulders. “Touch down at the docks and I’ll run over to the storage location. You get us fueled.”

Sam hated being bossed around, but didn’t snap at his brother. The years had put a lot of awkwardness between the two of them and he didn’t want to make it worse.

Persephone was just as Sam remembered it; noisy, with lots of people. But lively. Sam stretched his legs, the dusty air reminding him of history he had long been suppressing. Maybe it hadn’t all been bad though, Sam allowed.

He fueled her up quickly and hid away within the ship. Dean returned with their dad’s journal and a whole lot of nothin’. Sam resisted saying ‘I told you so.’ Same old patterns, same old story. Dad was probably drunk on the planet over. The happy glow of being on a job faded. He ached to see Jess again. 

* * *

 “Standard bounty hunt, feds want the serial killer taken down by any means necessary.” Dean frowned at the digital print-outs, scrolling through the Chinese characters swiftly.

Sam swallowed a bitter comment about what might be considered ‘any means necessary’ on the tip of his tongue and hummed neutrally.

“If more people would just have the ‘don’t pick up strangers’ policy, it wouldn’t be a problem. I mean, the guy’s MO is to hitch a ride and then kill his passengers,” Dean mused aloud.

“People gotta make money,” Sam said absently. He got a startled glance from Dean, and then a grin.

“Dui.”

“So, how do we tempt this mysterious killer onto the Impala, huh?” Sam leaned back in the pilot’s chair. He nearly kicked off the little army man on the console and contritely moved his foot at Dean’s glare.

“Sounds like he picks up rides that land just outside of the main town . . . there.” Dean pointed at the map off to Sam’s left.

Sam frowned thoughtfully. “Y’know, it seems like he targets smaller vessels. We should probably use one of the shuttles.”

Dean slapped his back and grinned. “A stakeout. Just like old times.” 

* * *

 Hours later, Sam sighed. “I seem to recall old times being a lot less boring.”

“Maybe he picked some other ride.”

“Uh huh.” Sam waited a moment before pouncing. “So why are you doing this gig alone?”

“Drop it, Sam,” Dean said mulishly.

Sam scowled. “Just wondering when you became suicidal is all.”

“I ain’t suicidal. Don’t pretend you know me anymore,” Dean snapped.

Dean had every right to say that, but somehow it still stung. Sam lapsed into silence, glaring out the shuttle’s grimy windshield.

A rap on the door had both of them tensing.

“I’ll get it,” Dean said, gesturing Sam to stay back.

“Open up.”

Sam remained in the cockpit, listening intently.

“Officers,” Dean said coolly. “Can I help you?”

“You need to come with us.”

“Got a reason for that?”

Sam winced at Dean’s insolent tone.

“We observed you at the storage facility. We have reason to believe you are involved in several murders. Come with us, now.”

Dean’s protests faded as the feds took him away. Sam rushed out of the shuttle’s entrance, cursing to himself as the Alliance cruiser zoomed off. Going after Dean wouldn’t help at all.

Sam high-tailed it back to the shuttle.

“C’mon Dean, where are you,” he muttered. The feds chatter mentioned a suspicious character, but that was it. No hints of where they would take Dean.

Well, time to play it safe was far past. Sam waited a decent amount of time before placing an anonymous call, threatening to bomb Persephone’s courts of law.

Hopefully that would give Dean enough of a distraction to wiggle his way out of there. 

* * *

 The com crackled to life. “Just like riding a horse, hey Sammy?”

“Shaddap. You in the Impala?”

“Uh huh. Nice work with the tip off. If they follow us all the way to the shuttle, then they know about the ship, smart thinking. I’m gonna hafta high-tail it out of here and do a couple circles before getting to you.”

“Hurry it up,” Sam complained. “I’m hungry.”

“Stop whining Sammy, you—”

There was a knock on the shuttle’s entrance and Sam put down the inter-com. Hefting his gun, he opened the door cautiously.

“Hello?”

Sam blinked at the girl. “Um, ni hao.”

“Your shuttle was just sitting here, I figure you’re taking passengers?”

Sam stowed his gun in the small of his back and smiled uncertainly. “Yeah, sure.”

“Sam?” The inter-com crackled and Sam turned.

“Don’t move.”

Sometimes, Sam really wished he would’ve paid more attention to his dad’s lessons. Never turn your back on a potential threat. Especially when your weapon had been tucked into your pants.

“What are you planning on doing?” he asked.

The girl smiled coldly. “You and me are going on a little ride.” She gestured Sam’s gun towards the console. “Go on. I’ll tell you where to go.”

Sam swallowed, sitting at the pilot’s chair. The line was open. Dean would be able to hear everything.

The only question was whether he would be fast enough. 

* * *

 “Stop. Land here.”

Sam guided the shuttle down.

There was no point in reasoning with her, but Sam tried to buy himself some time. “Why do this?” Sam asked gently.

Her eyes were fever bright and manic. “Why not? Have you ever been unfaithful?”

Sam shook his head.

“You will be,” she told him. With conviction that came from experience.

“Did someone hurt you? When you took a ride?” Sam asked softly.

“None of your business.” The woman pulled on a strange looking glove, keeping Sam’s gun aimed at him.

“What’re you—“

She touched his chest, five fingertips that instantly burned and sent a jolt through his body, sending Sam to the floor.

“Hey!”

The bang of a gun, and the girl twisted away, howling and clutching her shoulder.

“You okay, Sammy?”

Sam grunted at his brother and slowly got up off the floor. “Took you long enough.”

Dean grinned and slapped Sam’s chest, causing Sam to yelp. “Easy does it. Let’s tie this young lady up, shall we?” 

* * *

 The job was done, and the thrill of satisfaction on its completion wasn’t enough to make Sam too enraptured. He cursed in Chinese under his breath as he rubbed at his aching chest.

“C’mon, are you that soft from your time in the core? S’just a little pain.”

Sam glowered at Dean. “Enough already. Look, can you just drop me off at Ariel? You can pick up a pilot there. There was no sign of Dad on this job, he obviously doesn’t want to be found.” It was a little sharp of him, but this life wasn’t his anymore, and he needed to leave before he was sucked back in.

Dean swiped a hand across his face, and Sam could see how stiff and unnatural his grin was. “Sure thing, you gonna see your girl?”

Sam grunted, and Dean’s grin grew into something a little more real. “I still can’t believe you had it in you, finding a woman like that. Getting classy, there, Sam.”

Sam couldn’t help feeling a bit pleased, privately, but managed to twist his lips downward in order to look annoyed. “Don’t even start.”

Dean saluted. “Browncoat’s honor.”

They arrived in Ariel late at night, at least on that side of the planet. Dean seemed oddly tense and fidgety.

“We made a good team.”

“I know.”

“I’m going to keep looking for Dad.”

“Let me know when you find him.” Sam said softly.

“Yeah.”

Sam walked down the ramp quickly, before he could change his mind. It would be too easy to give in, to rejoin his brother in the old life. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t give up his dreams. Sam began flipping off the switches that were a part of his old life.

He made his way into their room, looking around and finding Jess absent. She wasn’t back, yet, apparently.

Sam flopped down on her bed. Something wet hit his forehead.

Jessica was strung up, in a way that Sam knew very well, intestines spilling out, mouth open and bloody.

A noise in the darkness had Sam turning, but too slow.

Sam knew he was doomed, he had known it the second he had seen Jess. Reavers were vicious cannibals, brutal in ways that no human could even come close to, and impossible to beat without proper preparation. Sam’s only defense was a knife sheathed in his boot, and he didn’t have time to reach for it.

The face above his bared its teeth, deep scar tissue marred by fresh, self-inflicted cuts. Sam scrambled to keep the reaver back, his hands on its neck but unable to find purchase.

A shot rang out, and the reaver collapsed on him. Sam shoved it off, taking deep gasping breaths. Dean was there, his gun outstretched, and then he was pulling Sam to his feet, away from the reaver.

“Jess,” Sam finally croaked, staring at her mangled corpse, twisted and destroyed.

“Sammy, don’t look, come on, come on.”

It didn’t make sense. Nothing . . . nothing made sense. Reavers were insane monsters living on the outer rim, raiding backwater planets. To be in the core . . . Sam couldn’t understand. He let Dean drag him away, and sank down into the fuzzy darkness of shock. 

* * *

 “Sam.”

Sam stared dully at the rocket he was supposed to light. Sending Jess’s memory to the stars.

“Sammy, you need to do this,” Dean whispered.

He glanced over at Jess’s crying parents and siblings. Sam slowly moved forward, using a match to send the rocket off.

The gravestone had a hologram of Jess smiling and laughing. Sam bit his lip.

“Sammy, we can go.”

Sam shook his head, expecting Dean to leave. Instead, his brother stood next to his shoulder, a tacit support.

“I’m sorry,” Sam murmured to Jess. He could’ve saved her.

“Sammy, c’mon.”

He allowed Dean to drag him away, eyes seeing nothing.

“So you should see the way I fixed up the engine, man, it’s gorgeous.”

Dean paused, like he was waiting for Sam to respond, but Sam couldn’t think of what he was supposed to say.

“Also, stopped by the local gun shop for you.”

Sam took the gun numbly from Dean’s hand—the weight was perfect.

“Whatever did this,” he said roughly. “They ain’t gonna get away with it, dong ma? Women you gongzuo yao zuo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wo zhidao-I know  
> dui bu dui? Right?  
> Zai jian-goodbye  
> Wo ai ni-I love you  
> Hun dan-jerk  
> Mu gou-bitch  
> Fei wu-crap  
> Ni hen mafan-you're very annoying  
> Dui-right  
> Ni hao-hello  
> Dong ma?-understand?  
> Women you gonzuo yao zuo-we have work to do


	3. The Blood Job

“Maybe Dad found a lead,” Dean offered.

Sam started from his moody contemplations. “Uh . . . yeah, maybe. That’s probably why he’s gone off the radar. Maybe his conspiracy theory panned out.”

They had talked about this too much, but the only other option was talking about the years that now separated them or Jess’s death, and they weren’t quite ready for that in Dean’s opinion. At least, Sam didn’t seem to be. Kid alternated between brooding on his own or heading on a warpath for the next job, the next opportunity to dig deeper into what was going on.

Dean knew revenge, had seen it ever since his mom had died on the ceiling strung up by a reaver. His dad was hot on the trail of whatever mystery was behind it all. As of now, there was still no explanation. Reavers were humans driven insane by . . something. Violent cannibals in a mob. For one of them to go rogue, kill one person and leave the rest alive . . .

“Yeah. Hey, do you have any real food in this boat or is it all protein?”

Dean blinked, and then smirked at his brother. “I just made a pit-stop at a core planet, what do you think?”

“About that, how did you manage to land? I mean, how many bulletins have the Impala’s description?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I forgot how pessimistic you are.”

There was a slight pause, and Dean winced as Sam looked away, obviously trying to hide his hurt feelings. It was hard, learning how to work with him again.

“You like the new paint job?” he asked.

Sam rolled his eyes, and Dean relaxed. “Ship’s always been black,” Sam muttered.

“And I gave her a fresh coat. And did you see those silver highlights?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Miffed, Dean folded his arms across his chest. “You got no appreciation for the Impala.”

“I’ve always wondered why you never got a sleeker, newer space ship,” Sam said, but Dean could see the glint of challenge in his eye. Sam was trying to get a rise out of him.

“Don’t listen to him, baby, he’s just jealous.” Dean patted the wall and smirked.

Sam looked bemused as he shook his head, and Dean resisted the urge to grin at him happily. The years had changed his brother, but not that much.

“Hey, get some sleep before you fall over. Ship crashes, you crashed her.”

As he spoke, the words reverberated through his head. It had been a few years. Maybe Sam needed a little while to brush up on his old skills.

Sam caught Dean’s hesitation and bristled. “What, Dean?”

“You not a little rusty?”

Some very choice Chinese curses were spat at him and Dean winced. Possibly not the best way to go about questioning his younger brother’s abilities.

Dean let it go, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. 

* * *

 The seedy bar wasn’t exactly a nice establishment, and Dean could tell Sam thought the same due to the wrinkled turn of his nose.

“Dean, how long are we going to have to be here?” Sam whispered.

“They’re dropping us the coordinates Sam. No control over it.” Dean casually sipped at his drink and kept a sharp lookout on the rest of the bar. The job had come up anonymously, which meant a discreet tip-off.

“This is not a good day to be in a place like this.”

“Don’t be such a snob, Sammy,” Dean muttered.

“It’s not that.” Sam’s glance was sharp. “You don’t know what day it is, do you?”

“Sam, I don’t know what month it is.” Dean eyed a couple of guys looking askance at the two of them, considering the pros and cons of getting into a friendly brawl. Probably not worth it, with the bitching he’d get from Sammy. Dean had missed his brother, but not enough that he didn’t realize the shortcomings of having his little brother’s stricter way of living imposed upon him again.

“Dean, are you listening to me?”

Dean blinked, re-focusing on an exasperated Sam.

“It’s U-day,” Sam said succinctly.

Dean swore.

“Yeah. So, y’know, great day to wear Dad’s old coat, daizi.”

“I like to live on the edge,” Dean said distractedly. Unification Day. Just his luck. It wasn’t like he and Sam had fought in the war, but on a planet close to the core, even wearing the color brown or looking like an off-worlder could get you shot in the head. Freakin’ Independence, losing the war.

The muscle that headed over to their table was expected. “You gonna toast to Unification Day?” the guy asked, belligerence and alcohol in every line of his swaying figure.

Dean grinned and lifted his empty glass. “All outta toasts, man. If you’re buying . . .”

“Your coat’s a brownish color,” he noted.

“It was my dad’s,” Dean said honestly, for once. Sam threw him a look but didn’t say anything in front of the thug.

“You know what your daddy was?” the guy slurred, and Dean tensed all over, just staring him down and daring him to say something.

“I think you need to get another drink, man, that chick is checking you out.”

Dean jolted at Sam’s smooth interruption, suddenly realizing that Sam was standing and using his considerable height to tower over the pro-Alliance man. “After all, this is a day of celebration,” his brother said lightly, gently turning the man and pointing him in the direction of a girl who looked like she could hold her own.

“Hey, I had ‘im.” Dean protested as Sam shoved him out the door.

“Yeah, well I got our coordinates. So stop starting bar fights and let’s get outta here.” 

* * *

 Dean hovered over Sam’s shoulder as he began landing their ship at the space station.

“Dean, dude, I won’t crash; this is practically automated,” his little brother snapped.

“Yeah,” Dean muttered distractedly. “It’s just . . . this guy don’t got a great rep.”

“So don’t take the job?” Sam asked, frowning slightly.

“I don’t know. This is . . .” Dean trailed off with a short curse in Chinese. “We need the money.”

“Then we’ll do it.” Sam turned his sharp gaze on Dean. “Is it because you’re worried that I’m rusty?”

“I didn’t say that,” Dean said quickly.

“Yeah, well, you implied,” Sam returned darkly. “So shut up and let’s do the job.”

The Impala locked into place, and the two of them made their way onto the space station.

“Sammy, let me do the talking, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” his brother grumbled, but he fell into place without another word.

“Mr. Walker,” Dean said confidently. “I hear you have a job for us.”

The man turned around, dark eyes glittering with malice or curiosity, Dean couldn’t tell.

“Well. Dean Winchester. You can call me Gordon. And who might this be?”

“This is my brother Sam,” Dean interjected before Sam could speak for himself. “We’ll get the job done. Could you give us the specifics?”

“Of course.” Gordon’s eyes swept over Sam and then he focused on his desk. “A train is taking cargo from Hancock to Paradiso. Have you ever done a train job before?” He passed a handful of paperwork over to Sam.

Dean glanced at Sam. “Not exactly, but I’m positive we can make do.”

“Good. I’ll expect you and Sammy here to have the job completed by the date specified and report back to me.”

“Only he gets to call me that.”

Dean flinched at the unexpected insertion of Sam’s voice into the conversation, but kept his expression neutral as Gordon looked at Sam sharply.

“I have a rather ruthless reputation,” Gordon said softly, finally turning to look at Dean. “Your father has a reputation for getting a job done. See to it that you follow in his footsteps. Or we might have a problem.”

“I hear ya.” Dean raised his chin slightly. “We’ll get the job done.”

He turned and jerked his head in silent command for Sam to follow.

“What does he mean by ruthless?” Sam murmured into Dean’s ear as they made their way back to their ship.

“He started out as a bounty hunter like us,” Dean replied. “With a penchant for taking on dead or alive jobs. Nine out of ten times he would collect the bounty for dead.”

“Got it.” Subdued, Sam stayed close, Dean feeling a surge of comfort with Sam at his back. This was how a job was supposed to be done. 

* * *

 “Stop fidgeting.”

“I hate sitting still,” Dean grumbled. “Of course you’re probably used to it, huh?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam continued to scan the area around them and glance at his watch periodically.

“Sitting in class all day? You can’t tell me you ain’t used to it.”

Sam scowled. “Not all day.”

Dean opened his mouth to ask Sam what he had done at school, but ended up snapping it shut as a man walked by.

“Five minutes,” Sam murmured.

“You sure this’ll work?” Dean asked dubiously as the two of them slipped from one train car to the other.

“Long as the container is strong enough to withstand impact,” Sam whispered.

“I like my idea better,” Dean grumbled, slipping past a group of people chattering loudly in a dialect of Chinese that he hadn’t heard in a while. He’d have to brush up on his language studies.

“Yes, because it would’ve been so easy to fly the Impala above the train at the same velocity and magically lift the container up to me without anyone to work the lines,” Sam said sarcastically.

Dean made a face at him. “Whatever.”

They finally found the right compartment and the container by the description Gordon had given them. Dean shoved it close to the door and grinned. “Not too heavy.”

“Uh huh.” Sam nervously glanced around. “And you’re sure that you set up the detonation correctly?”

“Don’t doubt me, Sammy, it’s not nice.”

At the other end of the train, there was the sound of an explosion—a gas bomb that Dean had rigged—and the train immediately shut down, drenching the car in darkness.

“Now,” Dean hissed, prying open a side panel and heaving out the cargo. He glanced at Sam. “Follow me, quick-like.” He swung himself out of the hole, dropping heavily from the hovering train. Sam had mentioned it was some kind of magnetic system, and Dean glanced appreciatively at the floating cars. Technology sometimes seemed like magic.

“Sam, hurry up!” he called.

There was no response, and Dean craned his neck in an attempt to see his brother.

A whirring noise came from the tracks, and Dean officially started to panic. He couldn’t reach the opening from where he was, and Sam was still inside.

“Sammy!” he shouted, but there was no response, and the train shuddered to life, forcing Dean to back up or be fried by the currents of electricity. 

* * *

 Sammy had a good touch with hacking, but Dean was no slouch in that department. He got into the local sheriff’s security feed, flicking through the various cameras until he found Sam, huddled in the corner of one cell. Dean’s stomach clenched at the sight. As much as he wanted Sam at his side like before, he hated times like these.

With a few adjustments, Dean managed to get some sound.

“You think you can steal from us?”

“It wasn’t me.”

The man grabbed Sam by the throat, shoving him back into the wall. Dean snarled, hand automatically going to his gun, but unable to do anything about it.

“Eli! Let him be.”

The woman who walked in gestured, and Sam was deposited none too gently onto the cot in his cell.

“I didn’t do it,” Sam said mulishly.

“We shall see.” The woman crossed her arms. “Do not test my patience. You heard me earlier. This is your chance to come clean before I do anything drastic.”

Enough was enough. Dean shut off the feed, shrugging on a clean shirt and clambering out of his bunk. He couldn’t go in guns blazing, but he could do what Winchesters did best—lie about themselves.

* * *

“So I hear you folks have had a bit of trouble on the train shipment this morning.” Dean offered a quirked grin. “Here’s the thing. I’ve got an escaped indentured servant. Stole all of my credit and ran off. I’ve tracked him here. Can you help me?”

The husky man looked Dean up and down. “What’s to say that you aren’t the kid’s partner?”

Dean looked at him innocently. “Partner in what? Far as I know, he came here to hide away from me. He steal your girl?” Dean winked.

The man growled lowly, but a strong female voice cut through. “Is it as you say? Sam is the one you are searching for?”

Dean turned to face the woman, offering his most charming grin. “How’s about you turn him over and I’ll punish him as I see fit?”

The woman tossed her dark hair. “He’s in there.”

Dean skirted past her, tension rolling off his shoulders the instant he saw Sam was okay.

Now for the grand act. “You son of a—“

“Dean?”

Dean slugged Sam, pulling it at the last second. Sam looked shocked and angry, which wouldn’t work very well; Dean gestured minutely, trying to get Sam to play along. “Did you really think that I wouldn’t find you? That you could steal from me?”

Sam’s eyes widened. “I . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave.”

The words struck true for a moment, and Dean paused before resuming his role. “Let’s go, boy. You’re gonna pay for this.”

He dragged Sam from the cell, his taller brother hunched over and looking suitably chastened.

“Sam.”

The woman’s voice stopped them.

“Yes, Lenore?”

“You forgot this.” She handed Sam’s gun to Dean with a keen look. They skedaddled as they best knew how, and only then did Dean turn to Sam.

“First name basis, eh?” he smirked.

“Did you have to punch me?” Sam fingered his lip. “Anyway, change of plan.”

“Change in plan, how?” Dean asked warily.

“We have to take the cargo back,” Sam said, halting and grasping Dean’s shoulder. “This town, they need what’s in that container to survive. There’s a condition from working in the mines that requires them to receive infusions of blood. If we take this shipment of blood, people will die.”

Dean swore. “Are you kidding?”

“I wish.”

“Sam, you do realize that crossing a man like Gordon . . . we’ll be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives.”

Sam ducked his head. He tugged a little at the bottom of his shirt, an old quirk from when he was little. “I know, Dean. But it’s the right thing to do.”

There was no ruttin’ way Dean could say no to the kid. He sighed. “I was gonna buy a new gun with the money.”

“Yeah, yeah, cry me a river, hun dan.”

Insults in Chinese was their way of confirming their bonds as brothers, or whatever. Sometimes, Dean wondered if Sam deliberately used it to get him to agree to things. “Fine, mu gou,” he sighed. “Let’s be good guys.” 

* * *

 As they flew back to the Impala, Dean calculated in his mind how far they would be able to go before needing to stop and get another job to make up for this one.

“Here.” Sam landed the shuttle smoothly. “Grab the cargo.”

“Bossy,” Dean muttered, but he obeyed nonetheless.

“Leave them a nice note,” Sam suggested, grunting as he levered one of the containers of blood to the ground.

“I believe you are stealing from my employer.”

Dean’s hand went to his hip, but the gun pointed at Sam’s head preempted any action.

“You Gordon’s lapdog?” he drawled.

The skinny man shrugged. “Whatever you like.”

“We’re not stealing,” Sam said earnestly. “We’re taking it back to the people. They’ll die without it.”

“Not my problem.”

Sam lunged, and Dean almost didn’t react due to shock at his little brother’s swift attack.

His gun was barely in his hand by the time Sam had slammed into the guy. He waited for his open shot, but instead Sam overpowered Gordon’s man, trussing him up easily.

“How’s that for rusty,” Sam shot out, and Dean took it with grace, as he deserved.

“Not bad, little brother. Not bad at all.” 

* * *

 Sam hauled the last of the blood onto the mule and Dean revved the machine’s small engine. “C’mon, Sammy, we gotta haul it over there ‘fore the sun rises. They catch us, we’re humped.”

“Or maybe you could hand it over now.”

Lenore jumped down from the rocks to the left of the Impala, gun outstretched. “We don’t much appreciate liars.”

Sam stepped forward. Dean hissed at him to stay back, but as usual his little brother ignored him. “We didn’t know,” he said earnestly. “Took a job, didn’t look too close. But now that we know . . .” he gestured to the mule. “We were taking it back.”

One of the townsfolk with Lenore systematically went through the boxes. “All here,” he grunted.

“Fair’s fair. You gave it back, we don’t shoot you.”

Dean pressed out a tiny smile. “That’s just fine. Now how’s about you lower those fine weapons?”

The guns came down, and Lenore strode up to Sam. “You have a strong spirit,” she said. “I can see you’re grieving.”

Sam flinched, and Dean’s hackles rose. “Hey now.”

Lenore didn’t spare him a glance. “You’ll get through this,” she told Sam.

Sam bit his lip and nodded. Dean remained coiled tight until the woman walked away, her posse hoisting off the blood and leaving the two of them alone.

“Well, this is one of the strangest jobs I’ve ever taken,” Dean said.

“Guess we can’t say we pulled off a train heist, huh?”

Dean made a face. “Next time.”

“Gordon’s guy?” Sam asked, nudging the man with his boot. The lackey glared up at them, bandana keeping him gagged.

“Drop him off at our next stop. He’s bound to have a few bounties on his own head.”

Sam nodded absently, staring out over the barren rocky land. Dean cleared his throat.

“You, uh, doing okay?”

Sam jumped a little, and gave Dean the most fake smile he’d ever seen. “Fine.”

With that, he headed into the Impala. Dean sighed, absently kicking their prisoner in the leg. “Yeah, everything’s fine. You make trouble we shoot you in the head, dong ma?”

He got a glare for his trouble, but it didn’t matter. Dean hauled him into the Impala, feeling the engine kick up as Sam got them ready to take off.

“Just keep flying,” he said to himself. “We’ll make it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> daizi-idiot


	4. Deanstown

“Well, this is . . . hen youyisi.”

“Keep walking, Sam.”

“I’m just intrigued to know why there is a statue of you in the middle of a town.” Sam waited expectantly for Dean’s response, but was disappointed when all Dean would say was, “shut up, Sam. We’re here to do a job, let’s do it.”

“No, no, this deserves some contemplation, I think.” Sam tilted his head, staring at the figure. “It’s uncanny, really. Did they make a mold of you? This is a mudding town, they harvest mud, I just can’t see why they would choose to idolize you. Did you win a mud-bathing contest?”

“Gorramit, Sam.”

“If you move your head, his eyes follow you.” Sam weaved around, staring at the statue of his brother as it stared back at him. “I think he’s judging me.”

“Yes, and so am I with you acting like a ruttin’ idiot.” Dean shoved him. “Cargo first, sightseeing later.”

They made their way into the crummy little bar. Sam tried not to make a face at how dirty everything was. Even the cups looked muddy.

“The hero of Canton, the man they call Dean . . .”

Sam swiveled his head around to stare at his brother. “Did they just say—“

Dean hunched down. Sam had made fun of his wardrobe choice this morning—a heavy hooded coat, complete with scarf and goggles—but it was starting to make sense.

“Dean, do you want to tell me something? What kind of crappy town are you the hero of?”

“I may have . . . uh, done a job here.”

“May have?” Sam listened to the song. “You rid the town of coyotes and then gave away money?”

“Not exactly,” Dean said tersely. “Robbed the mayor, he’s a corrupt bloodsucker. I figured, why not take my share for clearing out the local pest control problem? Went bad while I was escaping, shuttle was hit. Had to offload the cargo.”

“I see,” Sam said delicately. “So they think you gave them money, but you didn’t?”

“Shut up, Sam! Someone’s gonna hear you.” Dean’s gaze darted around.

“Why do you care? Come on, Dean, embrace your celebrity status.” Sam grinned, enjoying Dean’s squirming.

“Stop staring ‘fore your eyes fall out,” Dean snapped at a kid watching them. “Scram.”

“Geez, Dean, he isn’t hurting anyone.”

“Dean Winchester! He’s here!”

Sam smirked. “Or not.”

Within seconds, Dean was surrounded by a crowd of ecstatic people. Sam watched from his seat in the corner, intrigued by this strange, shy side of his brother he’d never seen before. Since they were little, Dean had always been larger than life, bold and brash to the point of annoying. Sam couldn’t even count the number of times his brother’s loud mouth had gotten them in trouble. To see him now, cringing back from the accolades of a grateful community was disconcerting.

“Sam! Gorramit, c’mon, let’s get out of here,” Dean called.

“You sure you don’t want a drink?” Sam suggested. He kept his expression bland as his words were taken as a cry for drinks. Dean glared, at least until four free drinks were shoved into his hands. As an associate of Dean, Sam found himself swept up in the happy crowd, a drink pushed on him as well. He tossed it back, coughing at the burn.

“Stuff’s like gasoline,” he gasped to Dean.

Dean’s tight expression had loosened with alcohol. “Mudder’s milk, Sammy. It’ll put hair on your back.”

Sam grimaced. A flash of curly blonde hair among the mudders in the room had him contemplating the drink again. The taste and look of it was not inviting, but the oblivion it offered was. They had already made contact for the day to pick up their cargo; Sam gulped down the drink without any more hesitation. 

* * *

 

“—you left without saying anything, last time.”

“Cassie, I couldn’t stop, the mayor of this backwater town was after me, what was I supposed to do?”

Sam blinked through crusted eyes. He was somehow crumpled in an ungainly heap on a bench. Dean’s jacket was tucked in around him. Several other patrons were passed out around the room in varying states of disarray. Slowly, he focused on Dean—somehow still standing—in the center of the room, in a tense conversation with a pretty woman.

“Well, you may have played the hero, Dean Winchester, but you certainly didn’t do anything to really help. While you went off galavanting around the universe, you left us here, under the thumb of the mayor. Did you think things got magically better?”

“The money didn’t help?” Dean asked weakly.

“What good is money in a town with nothing to spend it on? Sure, we were a little better fed for a few weeks, xie xie for that.”

Sam moved, and there was a resulting ripple of pain over his brain. He couldn’t hold back a whimper. The woman turned on her heel and left, ignoring Dean’s call for her to come back.

“Who’s that?” Sam mumbled.

Dean looked tense, and not at all hungover, which was not fair. “Old friend.”

“Just a friend?” Sam sat up, swiping a hand over his mouth.

Dean shrugged. “You have fun? How ‘bout some more milk?”

Sam groaned, clutching his stomach. “No, please.”

The lines in Dean’s face eased a little as he smirked at Sam. “All right, let’s sober up and get this job done, hao ma?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, probably best if the mayor’s as pissed as you say.”

“I’ll say.”

Dean offered a hand and Sam took it, feeling the blood rush in his ears as the stood.

“Worth the hangover?” Dean teased.

“I didn’t have any nightmares, so yeah.” Sam regretted his tongue, still loose from the alcohol.

Dean’s grip tightened momentarily on Sam’s hand before sliding away. “Alright kid, I swear after this we’ll go to a hacker friend of mine who can see if there’s a signal to trace from Dad’s wave. We’ll figure out what’s going on.”

Sam took the peace offering with a small smile and straightening of his back. He could take on one more day with Dean by his side. 

* * *

 Dean uttered a succinct curse. Sam growled under his breath, trying to change the frequencies and signal outputs to release them from the magnetic lock.

“You can’t do anything else?” Dean asked.

“Does it look like I can?” Sam returned testily.

Dean thumped his fist down on the console, snarling a little. “We’re gonna have to go back,” he said. “I bet the mayor has the tech to keep the Impala grounded.

“How do we get it turned off?” Sam asked.

Dean paused, looking Sam over. “We could get you in . . . maybe as a companion.”

Sam reared back. “I am not sleeping with anyone to get our ship unlocked!” he said, horrified.

His brother rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to sleep with anyone,” he said patiently, “just pretend like you will.”

Sam crossed his arms. “Like hell. You can do that.”

“They know my face, Sam.”

“How are we even going to get documents to verify I’m a companion?”

Dean grimaced a little. “Well, I know someone who might be able to help. She’s great at forging documents, that’s how we first met.”

Sam scented blood. “Your . . . lady friend?”

“Stop making it more than it is,” Dean snapped.

“You’re doing that all by yourself.” Sam eyed his brother. “Plus, if I have to be a companion for this gig, I should at least have the pleasure of digging you for getting rejected.”

“I wasn’t like that, we were together.” Dean looked like he regretted the words as soon as he’d said them. Sam tilted his head.

“Together,” he said slowly. “You mean like—“

“I mean that Dad had left me to do a job on my own, and I was sick of traveling all the time. She heard what I did though, and she didn’t want any part of it.”

“Oh.”

For a moment, they were both silent. Dean cleared his throat.

“Now, princess, go get dolled up. You’re gonna have to pass as a prostitute, you know.”

“I hate you so much.” 

* * *

 Dean raised an eyebrow at him. “The sash?”

“It’s in fashion right now.” Sam shifted under Dean’s gaze. “Bi zui.”

“Nah, man, you look good.” Dean grinned. “Let’s hope your paramour thinks so, yes?”

“Who am I supposed to be visiting, here?” Sam asked.

“Mayor’s daughter. You’ll have fun with that, won’t ya?”

“You’re a zhu,” Sam informed him.

“I know.”

They snuck out of the Impala, meeting Cassie in front of the mayor’s place.

“Here’s your documents.” Cassie looked over him. “You clean up nicer than your brother.”

“Hey!”

Sam snorted.

Cassie looked towards Mayor’s Ellicott’s dwelling. “Once you’re inside, you’re going to have to get into the main security hub. That’s where the locking device is, if you shut it off, your boat will be able to fly again.”

“Easy,” Sam muttered.

“You sure you can handle this? I know it’s been a while since you’ve pulled off a con.”

“If you don’t want a fist in your teeth, you’ll shut up.”

“Word is, the daughter’s pretty solitary. Hard not to be, small place like this where everyone hates your father. She jumped when I sent the wave about your offer.”

“Let’s get this over with,” Sam sighed. 

* * *

 The door shut behind him. Sam took a deep breath, feeling frighteningly close to throwing up.

“What’s your name?”

Sam blinked, and smiled sickly. “Sam.”

“Sam, I’m Vera. I suppose you knew that.” Vera approached him, sliding an arm around his waist. “Shall we begin?”

Sam felt himself blush. He awkwardly kept his arms at his side, inching back. “Um, listen, I just need a second here to—“

Vera took a step back, looking him up and down. “Wait a second. Are you even a companion?”

“Um . . .”

“Companions don’t usually have scars,” she noted, pointing to Sam’s forearms and his neck. “Explain now, or I scream.”

Sam grimaced. “Look, my brother and I were visiting your town for a job, and the mayor—your dad—pinned down our ship. We just want to leave, no harm or anything, but my brother pissed off your dad. This was . . . it was the only thing we could think of. I’m so sorry.”

Vera snorted. Elegant facade fading, she flopped down on her bed. “Oh, this is hilarious. I suppose it isn’t very flattering towards me, but being a pawn to screw over my dad? This is great.”

“You aren’t . . . angry?”

She grinned. “Tell you what. You play some chess, hang out with me for a bit, and I get you in and out easy peasy. Hell, you can even steal from my dad’s safe.”

Sam smiled hesitantly. “I’ll take that deal.”

A couple matches of chess, quick critique on some of her paintings, and Vera very willingly gave him the security code for her father’s security offices and safe. Sam escaped after destroying the tech that was keeping the Impala on the ground, also snagging a decent part of the mayor’s savings.

“C’mon, already, you’re way past time,” Dean hissed when they met in the town square, as planned.

Sam reared back, offended. “Like you could’ve done better.”

Dean made a face that said ‘yeah, I could’ve.’ Sam scowled heavily.

“Where do you get off thinking you’re so great? I get it, I’ve been out of the game, but I’m still good at my job, and I’m sick of you doubting me every time we take on a job.”

“When did I say that?”

“It’s implicated in everything you say, Dean!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t run off to daxuexiao and learn those ten credit words.”

Sam turned away, feeling as close to hitting his brother as he ever had.

“You!”

Dean yelled in pain—Sam turned back in time to see Dean rearing back, a slash across his chest from a curved knife.

Dean quickly lashed out himself, knocking the knife away.

“Go, Sam, run!”

They made their escape as they always did—quickly, and with a lot of panic. As soon as they were safely away from the planet, Sam turned to Dean, regret clogging his throat.

“Did Cassie—“

“She knows how it is.” Dean’s face was blank.

Sam swallowed, putting autopilot on. “Let’s get you patched up.”

They trekked down to the infirmary, Dean grudgingly lying down.

Sam peeled Dean’s bloody shirt from his chest, drawing a hiss from Dean.

“Easy, I got this. Just hold still, alright?”

“D’you remember how to stitch?” Dean muttered, his voice slurring unintentionally.

Sam stilled. “Yeah. I was pre-med.” His voice was soft, and Dean winced.

“I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be. I’m the one that got you hurt.”

“Still.”

Sam deftly began taking care of him, rubbing some kind of cream that would instantly numb the whole area.

“Wha’s tha’?”

“It’s some of the good stuff. I’ve got a decent supply. Should hold us over a couple months.”

“Months?” Dean repeated. Sam could hear the hesitancy behind the word, and the fearful expectancy. He chose his next words carefully.

“I want to know what’s going on, with the reavers and why—why Jess died. I know it won’t happen overnight, so I’m in.”

Dean seemed to process that.

“Go ahead and try to sleep,” Sam suggested, “I’ll be busy for a while.” As if patching up his brother now could make up for all of his mistakes.

Sam would do what he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hen youyisi-very interesting  
> xiexie-thank you  
> hao ma?-good?  
> bi zui-shut up  
> zhu-pig  
> daxuexiao-college


	5. Bushwhacked Suspects

A scream echoed through the Impala’s halls. Dean shot out of his bunk, clambering up the ladder. The shriek had come from Sam’s quarters, and he didn’t hesitate to open his brother’s door and slide down inside.

“Sam!”

Sam was thrashing on his bunk, face contorted, almost as if in pain. Dean darted forward, pressing restraining hands to Sam’s shoulders. “Sam, wake up!”

Sam’s eyes weren’t focusing.

“Can’t . . . the blade, we can feel it sing.”

Dean swallowed, shaking Sam a little. “Sam, front and center. Wake up.”

Sam’s hands latched onto Dean’s shirt. “The forces pull us around, we have to pull back.”

Without warning, he was up and clambering out of his bunk. Dean followed with a curse, catching up to Sam when he got to his usual seat in the pilot’s chair.

“Whoa, didi, you are so not flying us when you are out of it like this.”

Sam paid him no attention, going instead to the cortex and searching rapidly.

“Can you hear the bees? One by one in the brain and out.”

Dean tried to keep how freaked he was from his expression. “Slow down. What are you talking about?”

Sam pointed to the nav system. There was a signal being broadcast. Weak, but it was straight ahead. Dean leaned in, keeping a repressive hand on Sam’s shoulder in case he freaked out again.

“What did you find, huh?”

Sam leaned back in the chair, head dropping against the headrest. “Blood to blood, it will eat you whole.”

Dean ran his hands through Sam’s hair, checking to make sure he hadn’t bumped his head. When that proved fruitless, he found a light under the chair and shone it in Sam’s eyes. His assessment found nothing wrong . . . except Sam had, without warning, gone insane.

“D’n?” Sam’s voice was almost slurred. “Wha—what are you doing?”

Had Sam’s sanity returned? Dean gripped Sam’s jaw, forcing him to lift his head and look him in the eye. “Tell me your name and when you were born.”

“Sam Winchester, May 2nd, 2470.” He blinked at Dean. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay? You woke up screaming, freaked out and were talking crazy, and then found this random signal on the cortex? If I ain’t okay, then I don’t wanna know what you are.”

Sam frowned, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “Head hurts. I . . . I remember what I saw. Just a guy, ‘bout my age, he’s in trouble.”

“What, you some kind of witch psychic now?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said softly.

It wasn’t the blind refutal Dean had expected. He swallowed heavily. “You . . . you’ve had this kind of dream before?”

Sam’s face spasmed. “Weeks before . . . before Jess.”

Dean had no clue what to do with that. He ran a hand over his face, thinking. “Alright. Let’s take this one step at a time. We can try and find this kid, huh? And go from there.”

Sam nodded, still looking dazed. Dean swallowed. “We’ll figure this out.” 

* * *

 Sam’s usual grace at the controls was shot—he nearly crashed them into the wreck with the signal. Dean watched him nervously as they suited up. With the helmet on, Sam’s face was distorted.

“Good?” he checked the coms.

“Hao le.”

The doors opened with a hiss of air, but there wasn’t the rush of oxygen leaving the ship that Dean had expected.

“Pressure’s intact,” Sam reported.

“Could be survivors,” Dean estimated. “Maybe that dream of yours was right.”

Sam didn’t respond, walking forward steadily. That was something, Dean figured.

With frightening accuracy, Sam walked through the corridors of the ship, navigating until he reached the main room, where he looked up. Dean followed his gaze, and gagged. The bodies of the crew were strung up, intestines dangling like grotesque streamers.

“Don’t look,” he begged Sam.

“Touch their ghosts,” he said dreamily. He drifted into the ship’s kitchen, with Dean scrambling to keep up.

There was a rattle of dishes. Dean went on high alert, raising his gun.

Sam tilted his head. “Max.”

“What?”

Sam removed his helmet, kneeling down. “Max. I’m not going to hurt you. We can help.”

The young guy, crouched under the counter, looked from one of them to the other, eyes rolling in terror.

“Open them up,” he whispered. “See what’s inside.”

That was enough of that. Dean waited until Max’s gaze was on Sam and then lunged forward, wrapping the kid in a choke hold until he passed out.

“Dean! Weishenme?”

“We’re in Alliance space, Sam. We can stay here arguing with this kid for hours, or get him to civilization a little faster.”

Sam scowled, but reached forward, hefting Max over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

With how crappy his day had begun, Dean was unsurprised when as soon as they had finished getting the bodies down and cleaned up, there was a broadcast signal over the intercoms.

“Alliance inbound. Stand down and prepare to be boarded.”

He exchanged a glance with Sam. Max was safely in the infirmary. “You know what to do.” 

* * *

 The woman who stared him down couldn’t’ve been long on her patrol. Dean smirked, leaning his chair back and lacing his cuffed hands together behind his head.

“You don’t have anything on us. So you might as well save yourself the trouble and let us go now.”

She cocked her head. “No? The Impala, a Firefly class vessel registered to John Winchester. Flagged for multiple smuggling charges and trespassing. Dean Winchester, with warrants out for smuggling, trespassing, and assault of federal officers. I believe your DNA speaks for itself.”

“Okay, so you have a bit,” Dean conceded. “But c’mon, y’all really want to snag a couple lowlifes when we were out doing a good deed?”

“Good deed? After murdering all those people?”

Dean let his chair fall with a thump. “Diyu. Nuren, you think we did that? We saved the poor bastard from that derelict, got those people decent for burial. Reavers done the horrors.”

She crossed her arms. “Reavers are ghost stories for little outer rim children. What proof do you have?”

“Ask that kid! Uh . . . Max, I think.”

She tilted her head. “I’m sorry, how can I do that, since you cut out his tongue?”

Dean gaped. “Shenme?”

She watched him carefully. “I think I will talk to your brother now.”

“No, wait.” He glanced at her badge. “Captain Ballard. Ting wo shuo. This kid got messed up good and proper. Those reavers had him, probably made him watch as they killed and raped and ate those poor creatures. If he’s started mutilating himself like them . . . Ain’t no one he won’t be sure to kill.”

There was a hesitance in her eyes. A thought occurred to Dean, and he swallowed.

“Where is my brother being held?” 

* * *

 The infirmary in the Alliance ship was covered in blood. Dean swallowed, stepping through the massacre.

“Where would he have gone?”

The captain told him Sam had managed to escape. If Dean knew his brother, he’d be searching for a way to get to Dean . . . but he’d also try and stop Max.

“Chances are, he’d head back to the Impala. I’m sure he’s looking for where it all started.” He held out his handcuffed hands. “May I have a gun now?”

“I don’t think so.” She gestured. “Lead the way.”

It was disconcerting, going through his own ship as a prisoner. Dean crept through the cargo hold, every fiber of his being wanting to call out to Sam. When he heard Sam’s voice in the kitchen, he froze.

“Max, you don’t have to do this. I know what’s happening, I can feel how much they hurt you. Please.”

Dean finally got forward enough to see Sam set in a defensive stance across the table from Max. His hands were similarly handcuffed, leaving him defenseless to the crazed boy.

“Max, I know they hurt you. Wo buxiang shanghai ni.”

An inchoate howl of rage, and Max was on Sam. Dean shot forward, intent on stopping the pseudo-reaver, but without warning Max went still.

Sam stared at Dean, bloody knife in one hand, bruise livid on his cheek.

“I didn’t mean . . . I couldn’t do anything.”

“I know, I know.” Dean moved protectively in front of Sam as the Alliance goons moved forward. Captain Ballard stared at the wreckage of their home.

“I suppose . . . I could let you go. With a warning.”

Dean nodded. 

* * *

 

Sam was sitting in the dining area all on his own. Which, well, with only the two of them running the boat, wasn’t abnormal, but what was weird was that he was sitting in the dark staring at the empty table.

“Sam?”

Sam jerked a little, staring up at Dean. “Dean. Something wrong?”

“You tell me, wode didi.” Dean pulled out the chair next to Sam, leaning with his elbows on the table. “Been quiet since the Alliance took to their heels.”

Sam’s finger traced a gouge in the table. “I, uh, I could hear him. In my head. Screaming. He was like me, I could feel it. There’s something going on, and we have no clue what it is.”

Dean swallowed, daring to raise his eyes to Sam’s. “I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything, Sam. You’ve always been a sensitive kid, and now we know why.”

Sam’s mouth turned in a self-despising sneer. “Yeah? Because I’m some kind of psychic freak who connects with murdering psychopaths?”

He didn’t have an answer, and nudged Sam with his shoulder. “Before. Right after you had the dream, you were pretty out of it. Should I expect that?”

Sam stared dully at his hands. “It felt like normal, but for some reason you couldn’t understand me. I don’t know what I was like.”

“Sammy. It isn’t so bad.” Dean hesitated and then reached out, placing a steady hand on his brother’s back. “I’m always gonna watch out for you.”

“I know.”

Dean waited, but Sam wasn’t more forthcoming. He ruffled Sam’s hair. “C’mon, kiddo, you wanna see the view? We’re passing some nice gas giants in a couple hours.”

Sam’s eyes lit up. Yeah, Dean still had the big brother touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hao le-good  
> Weishenme-why  
> Diyu-hell  
> Nuren-woman  
> Shenme-what  
> Ting wo shuo-listen to me  
> Wo buxiang shanghai ni-I don't want to hurt you  
> Wode didi-my little brother


	6. Skindig

“Persephone’s nice and all, but don’t think there’s no leads here, man.”

“You talk like that at this party and we aren’t going to be invited back.”

“You mean ‘ain’t gonna get invited back.’ Be proud of your roots, bro.” Dean slapped Sam on the back. “Is there any reason to get dolled up? Why can’t we find this guy after?”

“Caleb said this guy was straight up high class of Persephone. That means security, all the time. These invites are the only way we’re getting in to meet the gorram guy.”

“There’s your true self.” Dean said. “Now, how ‘bout we get some fancy duds on and take on this shindig.”

Sam tried to hide a smile, but couldn’t help it. “Hey, Dean, at least we get free food.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Real food?”

“Yup.”

Without another word, Dean was down the stairs and sliding into his bunk to change. Sam grinned, following at a slower pace. He had been put onto the trail by a wave from Caleb, but to do the job he’d had to contact Becky. Seeing her would be . . . difficult. He could remember so many nights, Becky and Jess laughing at Sam as Zach made fun of him. He wasn’t ready for the reminder yet, but to find their dad, he’d have to go through with it.

His old suit from Ariel felt strange. Sam had to brush his hair down to cover the bump on his forehead—courtesy of an angry drunk man Dean had hustled a week ago.

“Sammy, we doing this?”

Sam breathed deeply. Yeah. He could do this. 

* * *

 Becky was dazzling in a white and gold dress. She didn’t stand on any ceremony, despite the lavish setting and the confines of her occupation; darting up to Sam, she threw her arms around him.

“Drop off the face of the ‘verse, why don’t you,” she admonished. “We were so worried about you.”

Sam’s gut clenched. “Just looking for answers.”

Becky nodded sympathetically, turning her glance to Dean.

“Who is this?”

Sam said, “wo de jiejie, Dean.”

Dean’s gaze was appraising as he stared at the companion, and Sam discreetly shoved a finger in-between Dean’s ribs. Dean swallowed a yelp and offered a brief handshake.

“Pleasure.”

“I’m Rebecca.” She turned back to Sam. “I was . . . surprised, Sam. Why reach out now?”

Sam grimaced, glancing around. There was dancing in the middle of the brightly lit hall, and haughty, mingling upper class folks around the edges. A decent posse of Alliance people thrown in to boot.

“Jess dying,” he said, “it wasn’t . . . right. I need to find out what happened.”

Becky’s brow furrowed, but she nodded. “Okay. You need any help from me?”

Sam exchanged glances with Dean. “It would help to legitimize one of us if we were to dance, and then approach the man who has information.”

“Go on, Sammy, I don’t know any of these fancy dance moves. Knock ‘em dead.”

Sam made a face at him, but acquiesced, steering Becky out onto the floor. Jess had been the one to teach him how to dance; it was almost a betrayal to be dancing without her. Sam kept his gaze fixed just to the left of Becky, so he could pretend it wasn’t her.

“Sam, your brother . . . what does he do?”

“Odd jobs, really. Likes to keep flying,” Sam said vaguely.

“In school, you mentioned once that he’d investigate things.”

Sam blinked, wondering when his tongue had been so loose. “Sometimes, yeah.”

Becky lifted her eyes to his before dropping them again, as they twirled between a few people, and separated in the pattern dictated by the dance.

When they were close again, she spoke. “Zach’s been arrested.”

Sam stumbled a little, gaping at Becky. “What?”

“Some da pigu of an Alliance officer has him tied down as the murderer of his girl. It wasn’t him, Sam.”

“Zach wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Sam collected his thoughts as the dance split into the rows of partners opposite each other. They drew close again. “He must’ve been set up.”

“That’s what I believe.” The song ended, and Sam drew her to the side. Dean was at the buffet table.

“How is that doing the job?” Sam asked irritably.

Dean grinned. “I was questioning the table. It hasn’t offered any answers yet.”

“Our man’s over there.”

“I got it.” 

* * *

 For a while, Sam merely chatted with Becky, obliquely watching Dean. His approach seemed fine, and he looked like he was making progress.

“Rebecca, darling.” Becky tensed next to him. Sam turned, to find a man with a fixed smile on his face. “Who is this new friend?”

“This is Zach’s lawyer,” Becky murmured to Sam. Louder, she said. “This is Sam, an old friend.”

“Pleasure.” He offered his hand. “Come dance, Becky.”

“No, thank you.”

“I insist.”

Dean was suddenly there, expression tight. “The lady has promised to dance with me, friend.”

The lawyer sneered. “No, I paid for her, and I will rightfully do with my own as I will. She’s a companion, she’s mine for the night like the whor—“

Dean slammed a fist into the man’s face. “Well, turned out this is my kind of party, Sam!”

Sam cursed under his breath as the man rose.

“Shall we cross swords, then?”

Dean, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation of going at it right there, froze. He looked to Sam.

“Did he just say sword?”

Sam stepped forward. “I will fight on behalf of Dean.”

“What? Gorramit, nothin’s gonna make—“

“Accepted.” He flicked a finger at Becky. “With me.”

She made a face, but obeyed. Sam bit his lip. Obviously, with Zach’s precarious position, the man had leverage over Becky. If Sam had any say, that would be the last of it. 

* * *

 “Pretty nice.” Dean bounced a little on the bed. “How come this sonuva-mu gou’s putting us up in such fancy digs?”

“Common courtesy. If you’re planning on killing a man, you should at least make sure he sleeps in a decent bed. And he wanted to make sure we didn’t run off.”

Dean frowned at Sam. “So, I am definitely renouncing that whole, you fighting for me. No way.”

“Dean.” Sam sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I understand that it goes against your nature to agree to this, but when I went to school, I trained. Have you ever even held a sword?”

“I—yeah, sure I have. I mean, once. I think.”

Sam made sure to meet Dean’s gaze. “I can do this.”

Dean’s mouth twisted, like he had tasted something sour. “I know you can,” he muttered. “I just don’t like it.”

Sam sank onto one of the beds, the little part of him that appreciated creature comforts reveling in the soft blankets. “It’ll be okay. I beat him, and I should be able to get Becky free, and maybe then we can figure out what happened with Zach.”

“These friends of yours . . . were they good friends?”

The turn in conversation was surprising. Sam toed off his boots, letting his feet curl in the carpet. “I guess. Zach was in a different track but he’s smart as a whip. Becky was training for being a companion during that time, she said we were like a breath of normality when it got to be too much.”

“Companion training, huh?” Dean curled his lip a little. “How civilized.” They had both been brought up by their father to believe that the occupation of a high-class companion was still little more than a well-paid prostitute.

“Don’t start. I don’t agree with it either, but another fight is the last thing we need right now.”

Dean snorted. “Whatever, man.”

There was a beep from Sam’s communicator. He answered. “Ni hao.”

“Sam.” Becky’s face looked a little pinched. “I’m sorry I can’t explain more, and I’m sorry that you two got caught in it. I’m going to send over the evidence the police has on Zach, and maybe you can untangle it a bit.”

“You need anything else?” Sam asked.

She shook her head. “I can handle it.”

“Alright. Zai jian.” 

* * *

 “This video evidence? It’s pretty gorram convincing.” Sam passed a hand in front of his eyes. How late was it? “We won’t be able to do anything, will we?”

Dean leaned forward, rewinding the recording.

“Hang on. Well, ain’t ya a cunning little thing. Look at this. There’s a flicker here, over his face. That’s pretty characteristic of a newer synth mask.”

Relief made Sam sag a little. “He didn’t do it.”

“No. And if I’m not mistaken, it looks like our new friend might be a suspect. Look here, that’s a pretty distinctive scar on his neck. Zach have that?”

Sam shook his head, glancing sideways at Dean. “Can’t believe how much you’ve improved, brother.”

“Please, I always had these skills.”

Sam snorted a little, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with him. He leaned away from the screen, collapsing on his bed.

“Rest up. You got a big fight tomorrow.”

Sam felt Dean drag blankets over him, and smiled.

“Xie xie,” he mumbled. He could’ve sworn he felt Dean brush gentle fingertips over his forehead, but he might’ve been dreaming. 

* * *

 Dean was eyeing Sam’s weapon dubiously. “You know how to use that thing?”

Sam twisted the sword in his grip. “I’m a little rusty, but I can handle myself.”

Becky came over, glancing back at the lawyer every few moments. “Sam, can you deal with this? I mean, he’s killed several people in duels.”

“You know that it has to be done,” Sam said softly. “I can do it, Becky.”

Her smile was tight. “You better. Jess’ll come back and haunt me if I get you killed.”

Sam focused on his opponent. The lawyer twirled his blade expertly, facing off.

“Feel free to scream. I will make it quick.”

“Feel free to surrender,” Sam returned. He lunged without warning, a direct frontal attack. He had hoped to throw the man off guard, but he got his sword up in time to parry Sam’s blow. In return, he swept viciously at Sam’s head and forced Sam to retreat.

“Watch out!” Sam could hear the terror behind Dean’s cry, and for the sake of his brother’s sanity, he vowed to make this fight swift.

He faked a side blow, before spinning around to slash the other direction. The man wasn’t expecting it, and fell back a little, put on the defensive. Sam pressed his advantage, but grew too confident; the lawyer’s sword twisted from where Sam had parried it and slid against his bicep. Sam pulled back, hissing as blood slid down his arm.

“Sammy!”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam grit out.

“Run for the burrow.”

Sam blinked, almost absently blocking his opponent’s attacks as he tried to understand Dean’s comment. It clicked, and he could’ve laughed. When Sam was six, their dad had taken a bounty hunt on Valentine. Sam and Dean had spent the entire trip playing hide and seek in the large burrows of the native overly-grown rabbits. Running for the burrows meant going low.

Sam took his brother’s advice, allowing the man to pretend he had the advantage with Sam’s injury, and letting a few blows get dangerously close to his weak side. Once Sam was near enough, he swept his blade low, catching the lawyer’s calf. He fell with a cry, and Sam knocked aside his sword.

“Yield,” Sam demanded.

“Finish it,” he hissed.

“Oh, is it humiliating to lie there where the better man wins?” Dean swaggered close, grinning down at the man. “No, you’re going to confess to getting her brother arrested, and then head off to prison.”

The man’s face twisted. “How did you—“

“You got him arrested?” Becky stepped forward, rage coloring her soft features. “How dare you! Just as a ploy to get me in your debt? What kind of sick man are you?”

“A great man would show mercy and leave this for the authorities,” Dean said. He pulled Sam’s sword from his hand, and stabbed the man in his side. “Guess I’m just good.” He glanced at Sam’s bleeding arm, and then stabbed the guy in the leg. “Well, I’m alright.” 

* * *

 “You could stay on Persephone.” Becky tilted her head. “I know you didn’t finish med school, but there are plenty of jobs for a guy with your skills. Zach would love to see you, too.”

Sam shook his head. “I’ve started this, Becky, and I need to finish it.”

“I understand.” She kissed his cheek. “You take care of yourself.”

“You too.”

Sam entered the safety of the Impala, breathing a sigh of relief. “Dean?”

Dean poked his head out from the infirmary. “Get over here, idiot. We need to properly stitch your arm.”

Sam sighed, hopping up on the table. “If it weren’t my dominant arm, I could do it myself,” he muttered.

“Yeah, well, gotta leave some things for me, right?”

Sam let Dean get started before he cleared his throat. “You, uh, you never said.”

“Said what?”

“What the contact said about Dad.”

“I’d kinda hoped you’d forgotten.” Dean tugged the thread through, carefully pulling the stitch tight. “Mostly it’s a whole lot of nothing. Dad did a smuggling job for him a few months back, and completed. From there, no word.”

“What planet?”

“Jiangyin.”

There was a pause. Sam expected Dean to say they’d head out the next morning, but his brother was silent.

“Well? Did you want to check it out?” he asked.

“I mean, yeah. If you do.”

Sam frowned, turning his head a little. Dean was focused on stitching Sam together, but he was being strangely hesitant.

“What’s going on, man?”

“You looked good out there. With Becky. You could stay.”

Sam stayed still while Dean finished up his arm. When he was done, he punched his brother in the face.

“Ow! Weishenme?!?”

“You’re an idiot, if you think I’m not in this for good, Dean. I’m not going back. Get that through your thick skull before I punch you again.”

Dean eased his hand down from his cheek, staring at Sam for a moment. Sam stared back, willing Dean to understand.

“You popped some of my stitches, you freak. Sit back down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wode jie jie-my big brother  
> da pigu-big arse


	7. Safe Faith

It had been a long journey to get to nothing. A few rough jobs. A sixteen day flight, even hardburning some of it, with a mishap that consisted of Sam managing to break Dean’s vintage disc player and nearly running out of fuel in the middle of space. Dean was exhausted, irritated, and frankly ready to throw his brother out the airlock. So when Sam, with disbelief and sarcasm dripping from his words said, “Dad came all this way to smuggle . . . cattle?” Dean couldn’t take the humor from the situation.

“What, did you think he’d be smuggling slaves? We aren’t always evil like you think.”

Sam’s nostrils flared at Dean’s comment. “I didn’t say that,” he returned coolly. “Though it’s interesting that’s what your mind first went to.”

Dean clenched his hands. “Oh, go on, here comes another monologue about our backwards ways and how we are awful human beings, right? Perfect Sammy’s always right. Bet you wanna head on back to the Alliance now, for your shiny life.”

“Stop putting words in my mouth,” Sam snarled.

“Then tell me it’s not true!”

He saw Sam clench his jaw before he turned away. “Fine, you want me to go? I’ll go. Hell, I’m practically a doctor already, it’ll be easy enough to buy my own way and get someone who can actually find Dad.” Sam turned and strode off.

Dean hadn’t expected Sam to leave. He gaped a little, scrambling for a comeback or a plea for Sam to stay with him, he wasn’t sure which. The town on the bare moon of Jiangyin didn’t have much. Sam couldn’t go far, and Dean relaxed a bit. He’d let Sam cool off, and then pick him up when he was good and ready to apologize.

He kicked forlornly at the pens his dad had used to keep the cattle in—really, cattle? That was a stretch, even for them—and turned back to the Impala. At least she would never abandon him. 

* * *

 Dean waited for a few hours before his patience wore thin. He carefully shut up his ship so no one would steal his baby and headed into town.

Sure, it would be embarrassing to have to go trailing after Sam like some gorram lost puppy, but it was better than Sam really and truly disappearing on him.

Fifteen minutes later, he stormed back out, on a warpath. He should’ve checked. Backwater moons like this were notorious for being dangerous; apparently, this one had a penchant for kidnapping people.

“I’m coming, Sam,” he muttered. He considered briefly of taking the Impala, but went against it. It would be too hard to fly it himself and search the ground for settlements. Instead he took one of the shuttles. Every second that it took to prep the shuttle—feeling the mechanism catch, slowly easing the shuttle out from its concave place over the wing—made him feel more and more anxious. Who knew what the crazy settlers might do to Sam.

Despite how freaked Dean was, he settled back into his training. Emotions could make him do something stupid, and Dean needed to be smart about it. He created a search pattern, flying high and using a camera rig that they used on heists to photograph the ground below. After every block of the pattern, he would run through the images to check for settlements.

It was a long process, and every time the pictures were empty brushland, Dean’s chest got tighter and tighter.

Finally, he received his break. There was a decent tree cover, but some buildings were hiding amongst them. Dean landed a mile away, taking his weapons with him. Someone was going to pay for taking Sam. 

* * *

 It was nightfall, as he approached the settlement. Dean’s senses were set on high alert, not only because of the situation, but because the entire town seemed too quiet.

There was a shout. Sam’s shout. Dean ran forward, leveling his shotgun at the crowd. Sam was tied to a post in the center, while the folks around him held torches aloft. All that was missing were pitchforks.

“Looks like I got here in the nick of time for this party.” Dean swung the shotgun around so it slowly had each person in its sights. “What does that make me, Sammy?”

Sam was staring at him. He had a black eye, and dried blood under his nose. “What?” he asked dumbly.

“A big damn hero.” Dean’s grin was tight—his brother was tied up and hurt, and real jokes would wait until he was safe and taken care of—and he pointed his gun at the leader of whatever crazy sacrifice or ritual was going on.

“You interfere with God’s work?” The woman next to the man in robes radiated power, and Dean pointed his gun at her. “This man is evil.”

“Evil? Sam? This man once cried when he saw a rabbit being killed by a bird. You call that evil?”

“Dean, no, I saw it, get away before they—“

The sharp sting and buzz of electricity made Dean’s arms lock up, and he dropped his gun before following it to the ground. The last thing he heard was Sam’s shout. 

* * *

 “It would really help if you were awake,” Sam said. “I swear, if that gorram shocker did anything to your heart I am going to—”

“S’m?” Dean squinted through crusty eyes. “Too loud.”

Sam was stretched as far as he could go, bloody wrists a testament to how hard he was trying to get to Dean. “Dean, can you sit up?”

Dean assessed, found himself lying on his side in an awkward position. He really really wanted to lie still, but Sam had a freaked out high note in his voice that did things to Dean’s gut, so he pushed up, panting softly. “Man, they got me good with that fei wu.”

Sam’s smile was tight. “Can you scoot closer? I need to feel your pulse.”

“Why?”

“Those weapons are highly unregulated, sometimes the charge can through your heart out of whack.”

That didn’t sound good. Dean nodded, slowly scooting forward. “Like that puny thing could do anything to me,” he said bravely.

Sam grimaced, reaching for Dean as soon as he was close enough. He was woozy enough to find himself slumping forward, forehead hitting Sam’s bony shoulder.

“You need to eat more,” he muttered.

“Shh.” Sam swore under his breath in Chinese. “I need to get you to the infirmary, kuai yi dianr.”

Dean groaned. “Did they say what was going on? Why did they even snatch you?”

“They wanted a doctor, and instead they got a witch.”

Dean peered up at his brother. “Huh?”

“I had a vision of you getting electrocuted.”

“Oh.”

He took a few more deep breaths before easing back and sitting up on his own power. “Escape?”

“They took my lock picks. Ni ne?”

Dean rifled through his pockets, and then the lining of his pants. “The bumbling idiots are not as dumb as they look.”

Sam sighed. “That woman, Sue Ann, I think, she’s the one who has the most influence. Her husband is their so-called prophet, what he says goes, and she tells him what to say.”

“Get rid of her, solve our problem?”

Sam grimaced. “Assuming we can get to her. They want to burn me, and now probably you, at the stake.”

“Well, ain’t that just nice.” Dean glanced around the small shed they were stuck inside. “I vote we leave before that, hao ma?”

“With you half-dead until I can treat you? I don’t think so.”

Dean’s brain was pounding, but he managed to come up with a decent plan. “Okay, listen up because I’m gonna sleep after I say all of this.”

* * *

Dean stared up at the pyre they had erected.

“They take their witches seriously, eh Sam?”

His brother’s expression was tight. “I dunno, Dean.”

“Just remember that summer you wanted to join the local planet hopping theatre.”

Sam scowled at him, and then yelped as he was pushed a little. Dean bared his teeth at the offender.

“Watch it, jerkface.”

Sam met his glance one more time before collapsing with a more deliberate cry, clutching his head. With all their focus on him, Dean snagged the keys from their so-called guard.

“Burn him!”

Sue Ann’s cry was echoed by the mob. Dean barely had time to undo his own cuffs before stumbling over to Sam and discreetly letting the key fall next to his brother’s hands.

“Sammy, are you okay?”

Sam’s eyes continued to roll, and Dean had a moment of panic; what if Sam was actually having a vision? But out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam fiddle with the keys and undo his own cuffs.

“Now!” Sam shouted. Without warning, he had grabbed Dean around the waist—half-carrying him, he sprinted over to the town’s stables, shoved Dean onto a horse, and leapt onto his own.

“Yah! Kuai, kuai, kuai!” Dean kicked his horse into motion, the two of them galloping off. The shouts of the angry mob faded, and Dean realized his chest kind of hurt. He pulled his horse’s mane and it nickered at him, slowing down.

“S’m,” he slurred. “I don—“ 

* * *

 He woke up with some fancy gadget strapped to his chest, the constant hum of the Impala music in his ears. Sighing, Dean lay back down on the infirmary’s uncomfortable bed. Sam must’ve done his magic.

“Dean? You up?”

Dean groaned, keeping his eyes shut. “Sleep now, talk later.”

“No, xianzai, we need to talk.”

The fear in Sam’s voice made Dean open his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I need you to tell me what to do to turn on the crybaby. I dropped it off, but the signal won’t go through and it needs to go now.”

Dean squinted at the device. “Connected the wires wrong.” He lifted a shaky hand, pulling up one and pointing to the place it was supposed to go.

Sam cursed, quickly doing as Dean had shown him.

“We being followed?”

“I took you to an Alliance cruiser to get you fixed up, and they just made us. Hang on, Dean, I need to hardburn us out of here, do not move.”

Dean had completely woken up by the time Sam was out the door. For Sam to even have gone to the Alliance, let alone gotten them off the cruiser and back in the Firefly and flying away . . .

With a grunt of exertion, Dean sat up. The weird metal thing on his chest came with him, and didn’t seem to be attached to anything. He rose on wobbly legs, feeling his vision blur a little.

“You—“ Sam began a long, drawn-out Chinese curse that Dean was pretty sure included a mention of elephant dung. He stumbled a little, and was gently caught and lowered to the floor.

“We safe?”

“Yeah, I got us out of there. We’re good.”

“Alliance cruiser?”

Sam grimaced. “I kinda . . . stole the identity of a doctor when I was studying at Ariel. Just in case you or dad showed up in desperate need of medical attention that we needed to get into the hospital for.”

Dean couldn’t help smiling. “That’s my boy.” He patted Sam’s cheek. He looked Sam over. “Okay, your turn. Let me see your wrists. They get you anywhere else?”

“Just some bruises.”

“Shirt. Gotta make sure you didn’t end up with any internal injuries.”

Sam sighed, making a face as he pulled his shirt up over his head. Dean sucked air through his teeth.

“Gorramit, Sam, those aren’t ‘just some bruises.’”

Sam squirmed away from his seeking hands. “They’ll be fine.”

“Next nicer planet we’ll find you some hot springs salon, huh?”

Sam made a face, but couldn’t hold it. Dean’s smile slid away at the shaky breath Sam took. “Sam?”

“You had a heart attack, while we were escaping from Jiangyin.” Sam still hadn’t let go of Dean, and he could feel him trembling. “I, uh, I had to do basic resuscitation right there, and you were barely alive by the time I flew us to the cruiser.”

Dean whistled. “Nice save, man.”

“Almost not enough.” Sam ducked his head, and the next breath he took was wet. “You can’t . . . you can’t leave me, Dean.”

Dean remembered countless nights, alone in the Impala, cursing his brother, hating him for abandoning him, for not caring enough. He took all of that back.

“Sammy, I’m fine.”

“You almost weren’t! I’ve already lost Jess, if I lose you too I—“

Dean gathered him into a hug. “Easy, wo didi. Easy.”

Sam’s tears were hot on his bare shoulder. “Don’t leave me too. Please,” he whispered.

“Promise.” Dean closed his eyes and focused on the feeling of his heart beating, as strong as ever. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kuai yi dianr-hurry up  
> ni ne?-you?  
> Kuai-quickly  
> xianzai-now


	8. Objects in the Hunt

“Weren’t no way! No ruttin’ way, you cheated!”

“Takes one to know one.” Sam smirked, tossing his cards down. “Bet you wish you hadn’t thrown in all the chores, huh? How’s it feel to do trash for a month?”

Dean scowled at him, tossing his cards to the side. “You think this is over but it . . . well, it isn’t.”

“I’m quaking in my little boots.” Sam grinned.

Dean muttered something deprecating under his breath and stood with a groan. “Feels like we’ve been flyin’ forever.”

“Yeah.” Sam ran a hand through his hair. “You sure the reavers were reported out this way?”

“Pretty solid report. It’ll just take us a few days to get there,” Dean said. “You good with all this isolation? You’ve gotta be used to crowds of people around all the time.”

“It drove me nuts, actually,” Sam said. “Felt like there weren’t no room to breathe, y’know?”

Dean looked pleased. “Aw, you actually missed hanging out with me, didn’t you.”

“Please, spare me your ego trip.” Sam shuffled the cards up and left them in a neat stack on the table. “You going to bed?”

Dean frowned. “You don’t want to?”

Sam tried to smile. “You know me. I never need sleep.”

Dean visibly struggled to say something, but to Sam’s relief he let it go. “Alright. We’re in the middle of empty space, so in four hours put it on autopilot. No one’s gonna be bothering us for a few days. And you will sleep tonight.”

“Yessir.” Sam mock-saluted him, making Dean smile a little.

He was left alone on the bridge, nothing but his thoughts to distract him. Settling back into the pilot’s chair, Sam fiddled with the little army man he used to play with when they were flying for long stretches. Despite how often she’d asked, Sam had kept Jess in the dark about most of his childhood, but he had described long hours of flying, the transient lifestyle of a transport vessel.

To his surprise, that hadn’t put her off; it’d only made her more intrigued. She definitely wouldn’t’ve been that interested if she’d known how much sitting around was involved.

Something thumped from the rear of the ship. Sam blinked. There was always the chance they’d come across some space debris, but nothing had even beeped on the sensors.

He switched the ship to autopilot. Walking through the ship when it was their “night” had always freaked him out as a kid. The lights were switched to dim oranges to help sleep cycles, which in turn made everything look shadowy and creepier.

The hall from the bridge went right by their bunks. Sam glanced over at Dean’s, which was shut and quiet. For a moment, he thought about going down to see if Dean had made the noise, but decided against it. Dean needed his rest.

Sam wandered through the kitchen, grabbed some packaged protein—nasty stuff, but options were limited in space—and headed down to the engine room. The noise may have come from something falling loose in there, and they definitely couldn’t risk that.

The engine whirred as it turned. Sam watched it for a while, the complicated mechanical parts always making him feel calm, as much as he didn’t understand any of it. It was amazing, how Dean could manage to fix and keep the ship running.

The telltale click of a gun was familiar, if totally unexpected. Sam had an embarrassing moment of nearly screaming aloud at the shock—alone in space usually meant alone in space.

“Sam Winchester. I’ve come far to track you down.”

His blood ran cold as he recognized the voice. “Gordon Walker,” he returned. “Were you hiding in the closet?”

“Gotta up your tech, Winchester. Your sensors didn’t even pick up my ship, did they?”

Sam thought of Dean—alone in his room, asleep—and swallowed. “What do you want?”

“Oh, a lot of things. But mainly I want to punish the two of you for what you did to me. Reputation is everything, and you damaged mine. I cannot let that stand.”

Sam calculated on Gordon’s voice. As soon as he sounded close enough, he turned, blocking the gun away from him, and throwing a punch at the man’s face.

He was successful . . . to a point. Gordon was stunned by his hit, but not for long; and before Sam knew what had happened, he had been twisted around and thrown to the ground. Collapsing with a thud, Sam glared up at Gordon as the man re-aimed the gun at his head.

“Dean will have heard that. You won’t—“

The psychopath laughed. “Dean’s locked in his bunk, Sammy. You’re alone in the black.” 

* * *

 Sam woke up with his shoulders aching. He lifted his heavy head, blinking blearily at the cargo bay.

“I wondered if I’d killed you with that hit to the head, but I’m glad to see that isn’t the case.” Gordon came into focus, and Sam grit his teeth.

“You will pay for this,” he vowed.

“I very much doubt that.” Gordon went over to the control panel and hit the button for the mechanized winch they had in the cargo bay for lifting heavy loads. Sam’s bound hands had been placed over the large hook. Arms stretched to their limit above his head, Sam groaned.

“Now, put on a decent show, won’t you?”

Sam frowned, but before he could ask what Gordon was talking about, he heard Dean yell.

Trying to twist around, he looked for his brother desperately. Instead, the distinctive backfeed from an open com line filled his ears and Sam dropped his head in despair.

“Dean Winchester.”

Dean stopped yelling for Sam. “Who is this?”

“You might remember me from when I hired you for a job, and then you went behind my back.”

There was a pause, and Dean spoke again. “Gordon? How the hell—“

“Your ship is embarrassingly old. You might want to look into an upgrade.”

“I’ll take that into consideration.”

Gordon was out of his line of sight. Sam tried to still his rapidly beating heart so he could listen and determine his position.

There was a crack. The sound was accompanied by a line of fire across Sam’s back. He was too shocked; he let out a cry before he could stop it.

“Sam!” Dean’s voice was a roar across the com. “What did you do? Gordon, answer me or I’ll rip out ni de xin!”

“Well, see now, Dean, while I was thinking about how wonderful it would be to hurt both of you, I came to a realization. The worst torture for each of you would be to hear the other being hurt. Now, I will get to you before I finish this one off, but I thought we’d start with the youngest, hmm?”

Sam grit his teeth as the whip lashed out again. This would be killing Dean, he couldn’t let the maniac win.

“You bleed so pretty.” Gordon circled Sam until he was in front of him. “I wonder, how loyal are you?”

“Gonna . . . offer . . . me a job?” Sam bit out.

Gordon grinned. “Not at all. But it’s always interesting, seeing the breaking points. I imagine yours is far before your brother’s.”

“Guess you’ll find out,” Sam said.

“Stop it, Gordon! You want anything, you come after me, alright?”

The whip slashed through the air again. Despite Sam’s best intentions, he was unable to stop the cry from leaving his lips. 

* * *

 Everything was going in and out of focus. Sam frowned. Gordon was nowhere to be seen. Sam wriggled, feeling the scabs on his back open up from the movement.

“Dean?” he whispered.

“Sammy.” There was anguish in Dean’s voice. “Ni hao bu hao?”

“M’okay, can’t . . . get free. Ropes . . .”

“Look, Sammy, how do I get out? If I could get down to you—“

Sam swallowed, pressing his eyes closed. “Manual override. I can . . . from here. Get to system.”

“Can you get to it?”

Sam’s feet were barely touching the floor. He balanced on the tip of his toes, giving the ropes enough slack to slip free off of the hook. Crashing to the ground, he bit back a cry of pain.

“Sam? Sammy?”

Sam coughed. He couldn’t respond to Dean, he had to focus. The control panel was a simple one, designed for managing the cargo hold winch and opening and closing the doors. Behind it, however, was the more complex digitalized pad that Dean had installed after once having been locked in the cargo hold. With shaking, bloody fingers, Sam pried open the pad.

He had just managed to hit the commands when a sharp pain made his right leg collapse. Sam grabbed at it with a cry. He’d been shot.

“Now, it wasn’t necessary to do that,” Gordon said reproachfully. “We had just gotten to know each other and everything.”

Sam bared his teeth at the man. He could, at that moment, hit the button that would unlock the cargo doors, sucking Gordon into space.

But that would take him, as well. Sam prayed that Dean hadn’t gotten free from his room yet, and hit the button. He had just enough time to loop his hands over the metal pole that the control panel was attached to before alarm sounded and the door opened.

Gordon Walker screamed as he was sucked into space. Sam felt his whole body being lifted and pulled towards the exit. He just had to . . . had to hit the button. But with his hands tied up, looped around the only thing keeping him from being yanked into space, he couldn’t—

The doors shut. Sam fell with a thud, hot pulses of agony tearing up and down his back and in his leg.

An indeterminate amount of time later Sam felt hands on him. Gordon was back, he had survived; Sam whimpered, trying to crawl away.

“Easy, easy, little brother. Bie dong.”

“D’n? ‘kay?”

“Yeah, Sammy.” Sam’s bloodied wrists were picked up, the rope carefully cut. “What were you thinking, huh? Getting yourself sucked out into space? The space monkeys could get you.”

Sam tried to laugh, but it hurt too much.

“Okay, so you have a bullet in your leg, your back is ripped to shreds, and your wrists are bruised to hell. Miss anything?”

“I’m kind of hungry.”

Dean laughed, and carefully cradled Sam to his chest. “How ‘bout we get you patched up?”

“Okay.” Sam pressed his forehead into Dean’s collarbone, the point of pressure making the rest of the pain fade a little. “Thanks for . . . saving me.”

“You practically saved yourself, dai zi.”

“Hun dan.”

“Mu gou.”

Sam groaned and Dean hurried his steps, carefully putting Sam on his stomach on the pallet in the infirmary. “Let’s get that bullet out, and then I’ll get to your back, okay?”

“Great.” Sam clenched his teeth, wrapping his hand around the side of the bed.

“We out of that fancy numbing cream?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Dean began the painful process of digging the bullet out. Sam gasped his way through the procedure, on the edge of passing out but not quite making it.

“Easy, little brother. Almost . . . there.”

There was a sick squelching sound as Dean removed the bullet. Sam took a few deep breaths, grinding his teeth.

“You need . . . to work . . . on your technique,” he grit out.

Dean slapped his good leg. “C’mon, Sammy, just a little bullet.”

Sam cast a jaundiced eye back towards him. “How ‘bout I shoot you and let’s see how you feel?”

Dean smiled a little. “I forgot how grumpy you get when you’re hurt.”

“You’re . . . grumpy,” Sam said lamely. He felt Dean move to his back and took a deep breath. “I think I’m going to pass out now.”

“Go for it, kiddo.”

Dean actually pet his head a little before getting started. Sam briefly sent up a prayer of thanks that Dean hadn’t been the one tortured before giving in to the pain and passing out. 

* * *

 Sam woke up with a cry, unsure why he was terrified or what had happened, just knowing that he had to go before it was too late.

“Whoa!”

There was a thud, and Sam turned to see Dean had been perched on the chair next to Sam’s bunk and had toppled off.

“Dean?” he asked weakly. “Wha—wha’s goin’ on?”

Dean clambered to his feet, worriedly peering into Sam’s eyes as he settled on the edge of Sam’s bed. “Did Gordon hit you on the head? You were lucid before.”

“No, I just thought . . .” The dream was fading too fast for Sam to catch it. “I dunno. Weird dream.”

“Right.” Dean didn’t move though, one hand distractedly kneading Sam’s palm. Sam wasn’t sure he even knew he was doing it.

“Dean?” he asked gently.

“A week,” Dean blurted out.

Sam blinked. “You’re going to need to clarify that there statement, wode jie jie.”

“It would take a week to get you back to Ariel.” Dean wouldn’t meet Sam’s eyes. “Hey, you fly your fastest, and maybe it’ll be less than a week.”

Sam thought about punching Dean, but he hurt too much for that to be a realistic goal. He settled for sighing dramatically.

“For a guy who hates having emotional moments, you’re remarkably good at starting them,” he said. “I’m not going back, Dean. We don’t know much about what’s going on, but we know the Alliance is involved, and we know they’re tracking us.”

“That doesn’t mean—“

“It does. Everywhere we go, we put others in danger. I’m not going to do that. Not again.” Sam took a deep breath, wincing at the pull on the stitches in his back. “I’m with you, Dean. So stop being a gorram idiot.” Sam settled a little more comfortably on his stomach and looped an arm around Dean’s leg. “Now let me sleep and don’t go anywhere or I might hear a noise and think that freak Gordon has returned.”

Sam was nearly asleep when he heard Dean say, “I won’t let anything hurt you anymore.”

Dean was the master of impossibilities, and Sam let that thought comfort him as he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ni de xin-your heart  
> ni hao bu hao-you okay?  
> bie dong-don't move


	9. Message of Salvation

Dean’s breath caught. Sam was crying over what looked like a ribbon. Crap, what was the big brother protocol for this?

He took a few steps back, and his foot hit the metal siding in the hallway. Sam sniffed and brushed his arm over his eyes.

“Dean?”

Sam’s voice was thick. Dean cleared his own throat in sympathy. “Hey, Sammy, we’re nearing the bazaar.”

“Cool, cool. I’ll go fly us in.” Sam stood, keeping his face away from Dean still. “You know if there’re any bulletins on us?”

“Sure hope not.”

Dean watched his brother go. It had been six months since Jess’ death. 

* * *

 The space bazaar was loud and noisy and crowded. Dean noticed Sam creeping closer and closer to him.

“You okay, bro?”

“Uh huh.” Sam’s gaze was bouncing around the inner market. “How long do we need to be here?”

“Just checking the mail, getting supplies, and then we’ll fly out of here.” Dean brushed his arm up against Sam’s. “Flyin’ in the black too long, huh?”

Sam’s smile was tight. “A bit.”

“How ‘bout I buy you an ice planet?”

Sam’s smile made all the crazy bustle disappear. “That’s awesome.”

“Dean Winchester?”

Dean turned, immediately on the defensive. “Bobby?” Last time the old man’d chased him and his dad off with a shotgun. He shoved Sam behind him.

“What the hell you playin’ at, boy, never getting in contact? No gorram wave?”

Dean faltered. “Uh, I didn’t think . . . with Dad . . .”

“I may not be fond of your daddy, but that never meant you, you ruttin’ idjit.”

Dean smiled. “Nice to see you again too.”

“And little Sammy Winchester.”

Dean grinned, looking up at Sam and seeing Sam flush. “Hi, Uncle B—I mean, uh, hi Bobby.”

“You kids looking for some junk to patch up your ship?”

“Wouldn’t hurt. Gonna go grab our mail first.”

“I’ll walk with you boys.”

Dean interjected slyly, “hey, Sam, you wanna go get your ice planet?”

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam hissed. 

* * *

 “That’s a . . . large box.”

“Hen da,” Bobby agreed.

“What in the ‘verse could it be?” Sam asked. “Did you order something? A sex doll?”

“Ha ha ha.” Dean made a face at him. “Open it.”

Sam undid the latches while Dean held his ice planet.

Springing back with a cry, Sam nearly bowled Bobby over. Dean dropped Sam’s ice planet with a splat on the floor.

“Pastor Jim,” Dean breathed.

“Who would send you a body?” Bobby asked loudly.

Sam shushed him, glancing around the mail room. “Don’t let anyone hear you!”

“Do you think this is a threat? There isn’t a note, nothing. It’s addressed to our ship, but maybe it was meant for Dad,” Dean said.

“He hasn’t responded to any of our waves, Dean? What are we supposed to do?”

“Follow the shipment.”

They both turned to look at Bobby. He rubbed the back of his neck, brown leather coat bunching at his shoulders. “You boys are in a heap of trouble, so as soon as you figure out whatever this is, you send me a wave, okay?”

“We will.” Dean swallowed. “What about . . . Jim?”

“I’ll make sure he gets back to Haven.” 

* * *

 Dean stared into the inky blackness. He had taken on a bunch of hunts for reavers with Sam, some good bounty jobs. They’d gotten into a rhythm. Even dealing with Sam’s visions he’d get from time to time . . . okay, those hadn’t been in the rhythm of things—one dead pseudo-reaver and one mind controlling freak that Dean didn’t want to think about.

Sam flicked Dean’s arm. “Hey, man. You were zoning out there a bit. We’re coming into St. Albans, you ready?”

“Suit up, kiddo.” Dean gave the planet’s horizon a glance before taking a deep breath. “We’re going in with all the weapons we have.”

Sam nodded, but something was still off. Dean waited, because he knew his brother.

“You think . . . you think we’re gonna make it?”

“Make it where?”

“Through this.” Sam ghosted his hand over the controls. “It feels like we’re in over our heads with this one, Dean.”

Dean swallowed. “C’mon, Sam. You know I’d never let anything happen to you.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.” Sam shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll take us down.” 

* * *

 “The town is oddly . . . quiet.”

“Dean, we’ve gotta go inconspicuous here.” Sam twitched a little, hand a little too close to his gun.

“Calm down there, xiao tuzi. Let’s just go into the local saloon, hm?” Dean said.

Sam made a face. “You can’t get drunk, there’s a killer here.”

“Fine. Can I at least get a hooker?”

“Dean!”

Dean grinned.

The faces that turned at their entrance weren’t friendly faces, per se. Dean gave a cocky grin, as was his norm, while Sam kept his head down behind him.

“You boys from out-of-planet?”

Dean turned to the bartender, smirking. “Just passing through. What’s this little place like?”

“This little place don’t appreciate strangers.” Two glasses were set down on the bar. “Do your business and then leave.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Whatever’s on tap.” Under his breath, he muttered, “friendly,” to Sam.

“Is there anyone by the name of Meg around here?” Sam asked.

Dean elbowed Sam. It was too soon.

“That vixen’s been in and out of here. Watch your wallets around her,” he said.

The two brothers exchanged glances. “What does she look like?”

“Blonde, petite. Nice gun.”

“Thanks for that.”

They took their drinks to the back, Sam glancing around like a moron. Dean rolled his eyes, herding Sam into a booth.

“Seriously, relax Sam. We don’t know that this Meg person on the address is actually the killer.”

“Right.” Sam slid what looked like a small metal button out onto their table. “I’m assuming we’re not staying here for all of the day cycles. This—“ he leaned over, discreetly stretching his arm up to attach the button to the wall, “—will give us a view of the place.

Dean nodded appreciatively. “Not bad, little brother.”

Sam flinched as a rowdy cheer came from the bar. “We should go.”

“Finish your drink,” Dean cajoled.

Sam scowled, but obeyed. Dean finally agreed to let them leave after ten minutes. Suspicious eyes followed their departure.

“Should we try and wave Dad about this?”

“He hasn’t responded to even one of our messages,” Sam said bitterly. “Chances are, he’s dead. Maybe the same way Mom died, but how would we know?”

Anger flared in Dean’s gut, and before he knew what he was doing, he had shoved Sam up against the nearby wooden wall. “Don’t say that,” he hissed, “you have no right.”

Sam’s sad hazel eyes stared at him. “What if I’m right, though?”

Dean grit his teeth, and turned away.

Sam followed behind him, and Dean tried not to resent it.

There was weird sound from behind him. Dean sighed.

“What now, Sam?”

A thud made him twist around; Sam was on the ground, clutching his head.

“Sammy!”

Sam wouldn’t meet his gaze, eyes staring blankly forward.

“Look at me, kid, c’mon.”

“Two by two, hands of blue.”

Dean blinked. “What? Sammy, I can’t understand you.”

“Two by two . . .”

That was enough. Dean hefted Sam upward, shuffling him along towards home.

“Stupid, friggin’ little mu gou, stupid friggin’ dream things.”

They had nearly made it to the Impala when Sam dug his heels in. “No, no, no, no, no.”

“Sammy, it’s our ship. C’mon, you love the Impala, don’t you?”

“Noooo, no, no, two by two, two by two.”

“Sam, we’ll be safe inside. I’ll make you mapo tofu, your favorite.”

“The human body can be drained of blood in 8.6 seconds.”

Dean pressed his lips together. “Well, that’s morbid.”

“Given adequate vacuuming systems,” Sam told him.

“And creepifying. Great. Well, now that you’re done, will you go in?”

Sam suddenly bent down, unlacing his boots and stepping out of them.

“The weirdness wo didi. It’s gonna have to stop. Why do you need to be barefoot?”

Sam shuddered. Dean was thrown off, and when Sam shoved him to the ground, he didn’t expect it.

“Well, boys, this certainly is a pleasure.”

Dean looked past Sam. A semi-circle of seven reavers were there, a woman standing casually in front of them.

A long moment of silence.

“Sammy, run,” Dean whispered. It was too late for him, in the seconds it would take him to stand, he would be raped and skinned alive.

“At last we meet.”

“How are they not killing us.”

“Wrong question. What you should really be asking is why am I still alive?”

“Then why don’t you tell us, hm sweetheart?” Dean tried subtly to shift his weight.

“No, see, my partner had a reason. Me? I think you two are a nuisance that just needs to . . . go away.” She lifted one blue-gloved hand—and then pointed at Sam and Dean.

As one, the reavers sprang forward. Dean yelled for Sam to run, and sprang up while turning back towards the Impala.

Sam moved towards the reavers. Dean made some kind of noise of terror; he tried to move forward, but Sam had already taken out two reavers by breaking their necks. Dean stood frozen. Sam fought like he never had before. Gone were the tight, conservative attacks they had been trained to use. Sam was almost . . . graceful. He wove in-between the reavers, taking all of them down with sweeping kicks and precise cuts with a blade and an ax he had taken from one of them.

Finally he stood above their bodies, blades dripping blood.

“Sam,” Dean breathed, staring at his brother.

The girl with blue hands was gone.

“I . . . I can hear them smiling,” he whispered.

Dean came close, reaching out and grasping Sam’s bloody hand. “Let’s go inside, huh?”

Sam followed him docilely. Dean went through the motions of taking care of his brother—washing the blood off of Sam, re-bandaging the re-opened wounds on his back from Gordon’s torture session.

“We’re going to make this okay,” he promised emptily. 

* * *

 They had flown farther away, landed, and made sure no one had tracked them. Dean had set their radar so no one could sneak up on them.

And still, as Dean was locking away some more weapons in their secret compartment, there was a knock—a knock—on their door.

Dean went to the com, “Sam, come to the cargo room. Now.”

Once he had his back-up—albeit, back-up that still look half-dazed and half-out of it—he opened the door.

“Dad?”

Greetings were awkward and perfunctory. John hugged both of them. Dean kept glancing nervously over at Sam to make sure he wasn’t going to spout off about hands of blue again.

“Dad, how are you here?”

“You two found out about Jim. I was tracking you since then, and—“

“How did you track us?” Dean demanded.

“I could find this ship in my sleep, Dean-o.” John grinned a little, and Dean relaxed.

Sam, however, was tense. “So you got our waves?”

“What do you mean?”

“All the messages we sent, time and time again. When Dean nearly died, for example, and I had to take him to the Alliance. No? Ring any bells?” Sam took a step towards John like he wanted to take a swing. Dean thought of seven dead reavers and cleared his throat, going in-between the two of them.

“Sammy, c’mon, I’m sure there’s an explanation. Right?”

John nodded. “Come to the kitchen, boys. We’ve got our biggest hunt yet in front of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xiao tuzi-little rabbit


	10. Out of Time

_“Dean, why don’t we have a mom?” Sam swung upside down on the railings above the cargo bay. Dad had told them to keep the monkeying around to a minimum, but Dean would catch him if he fell._

_“Sammy, you can’t ask that.”_

_“Why not?” Sam pulled himself back up so that he could see Dean’s face. “Cuz last week when we were in Deadwood, the boy at the store asked me where my mommy was, and we don’t have one.”_

_Dean’s face twisted a little bit, prompting Sam to drop down onto the grating in front of him._

_“How do you always keep track of where we go, Sammy? I didn’t even remember that last planet being Deadwood.”_

_Sam sighed, responding, “Because the air’s different on each one.” He was about to get back up on the railing, but then scrunched up his face. “Wait, Dean, why don’t we have a mom?”_

_Dean rolled his eyes. “Man, you used to be so easy to trick into forgetting what we were talking about.”_

_Sam pouted. “Dean.”_

_“Look, Sammy, she died, okay? Just don’t talk about it near Dad.”_

_“Oh. Why not?” Sam asked, slightly subdued._

_“It makes him sad and angry. Trust me, Sammy, alright?”_

_Sam looked up at his big brother searchingly. “It makes you sad too, Dean?”_

_Dean bit his lip. “Yeah, Sammy, it kinda does.”_

_“Sorry.”_

_Dean scooped him up into his arms. “Hey, it doesn’t matter, dong ma? Now what if we sneak off-ship and find some Ice Planets, huh?”_

_Sam smiled, big and wide._  

* * *

 “Sam, if you just—“

“I know how to fly, Dad” Sam said tersely.

Dean coughed. “So we’re heading to the . . . home of all the reavers? Are we sure about this plan?”

“I found the source, Dean.” John bent over the map of the ‘verse. “The Alliance is behind reavers, they were an experiment to control people. If we can find where they came from, attack there, we can finally know how they killed Mary.”

Sam stood, flicking the controls to autopilot. “Are you kidding me? Dad, we’re going in with hardly any information, only the three of us up against what, an army?”

John rose to his full height. “This is the only way. A lot of our contacts have already been killed. Do you have any other plan for doing this?”

“Oh, I don’t know, how ‘bout anything else that isn’t a suicide mission?”

“You want to give up? Fine. Turn this boat around, get off, and we’ll do this without you.”

Sam grit his teeth.

“Sam.” Dean’s hand had surreptitiously fastened around Sam’s elbow. “C’mon, man. We can do this.”

Sam shut his eyes. He wasn’t doing this for Dad. He was doing this for Dean, and for Jess. He just had to remember that. 

* * *

  _Sam closed his eyes. Raucous laughter echoed through the thin walls of his apartment. Getting a scholarship to Ariel University hadn't included living expenses; Sam was riding the raggedy edge._

_He had never felt so . . . alone. He swallowed, setting up the capture._

_"Dean. I just wanted to say happy birthday. I miss you, hun dan. I don't know, I thought when I left that maybe you would come with me, or at least visit, but it's been months now, and I don't even know if you're alive. I hope you're alive." Sam ducked his head. "I'm not going to send this. I don't know what I'm doing." He shut off the capture, and the postcard with the vid image imprinted on it was spit out of the machine. Sam looked at his own face, haggard and drawn, and sighed, tossing it to the side. It was no wonder Dean hadn't sent any form of communication. He had always been a pathetic burden, nothing was different now._

_There was a knock on his door. Sam slouched upward, ready to tell his usual spiel; no, he didn't have any booze, and no, he wouldn’t lend credits._

_"Hey, Sam."_

_Sam blinked. "Jessica?"_

_The girl from his class grinned. "I have tracked you down at last."_

_"Tracked me down . . . are you in trouble?"_

_She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I am in trouble, so I went to the guy who has said five words to me. No, daizi, I have been dropping hints for weeks and you won't ask me out. It’s my birthday, I figure, hell with it, I’m gonna be bold. Here I am, and we're going to qu chi fan."_

_Sam thought about his credit and cringed. "I, uh, I've kinda already eaten."_

_His stomach grumbled. Loudly. Sam flushed._

_"Okay, here's the deal. My father, who has too much money, bought me a meal plan. Three a day. More food than I know what to do with."_

_"I don't want charity," Sam said stiffly._

_Jessica made a face. "It isn't charity. I'm asking you on a date, thus I'm paying. Deal with it."_

_Sam bit his lip. "I mean . . ."_

_"That's a yes. Grab your coat."_  

* * *

 The planet looked perfectly normal, but Sam couldn't shake an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach as he landed the Impala. No amount of weapons would do for this kind of battle.

"Ready, boys?"

Sam exchanged glances with Dean. If it weren't for the conviction in Dean's eyes, he would have taken them all out of atmo this moment. They had to go through with this. For Jess.

Once they had suited up and secured their helmets, John nodded to Sam. "Take point."

Dean scowled at Dad's command, and if it weren't for the butterflies in Sam's stomach he would have smiled. Dean talked big game about following Dad, but whenever his orders involved putting Sam in any more danger than Dean his brother's hackles would rise.

Sam took up his gun, walking out of the Impala first.

"Careful," Dean murmured, "we could be walking into a trap."

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean's obvious comment, but also checked his hip for his bag full of grenades. He was not going to let his guard down for a second.

"Atmo's clean. Air's the breathable sort," Dad reported.

Sam holstered his gun for a second before releasing his helmet, breathing in the fresh air. "Huh. Well, air’s definitely not the reason this planet was abandoned." His voice echoed hollowly among the empty street. It was almost more frightening, the gleaming chrome and sharp angles of Alliance buildings being empty, than the abandoned settlements they'd frequented in the past. "What do you think happened here?"

"Notice came years back, that something went wrong. Before y'all were born," John reported.

Sam turned. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Dean asked him.

"I thought—" Sam shuddered. A wave of pain prickled through his body. He barely managed to bleat out Dean's name before he was falling, head crowded with images that weren't his, pain from nowhere. He came back slowly. Dean's wide green eyes were the first thing he saw.

"The soup is overdone," he said.

"What in the ruttin' hell?" John barked. Sam flinched back.

"Sam has these . . . fits. Visions, of a sort," Dean said. He had one hand around Sam's shoulder, keeping him upright, and the other cupping his neck and not-so-surreptitiously tracking his pulse.

"And you didn't tell me because—?"

Sam swallowed, Dean's fingers feeling weird on his throat. "Ni xihuan dou yu."

"Sammy, what did you see?"

"Don't look, or your ears will bleed," Sam told him, desperately trying to get him to understand.

John cursed, and Sam pulled back, terrified. He was the hunt, the evil, he would be killed. He ran, Dean and John shouting after him.

"Sammy, no, come back!"

"Sam!"

Sam was being pulled by a string, he couldn't stop. The abandoned office buildings and remnants of an urban paradise blurred as he ran through the streets of Miranda. He finally reached the death and stopped. Dean came up behind him. He had to leave, or he would die too.

"Dammit, Sam, what were you—" Dean caught sight of the bodies and fell silent.

"They scream but say nothing," Sam said.

John caught up to them. "What fresh horror is this?"

"If you don't see it, it didn't happen."

Dean murmured, "Do you think the Alliance was up to something?"

"Very astute, Dean."

They turned at the new voice. Sam shrank back. "Two by two," he whispered.

"Who are you?" John demanded.

The man grinned. "Call me arch nemesis. Or something dramatic." he casually walked to the edge of the mass grave. "You've been tracking our program for nearly twenty years. And now you are at the end."

"You killed Mary?" John growled.

The man gazed over the three of them. "Your wife knew what she was getting into. When she refused to cooperate, she sealed her own fate."

"What does that have to do with the reavers? How do you get them to kill for you?" Dean demanded.

"As I said. Astute." The man gestured with his blue hands. "We didn't create them. Zealous settlers did that for us, trying to control and calm the population, and instead drugged an entire planet into crazed monsters. We merely stepped in after that and found a host of test subjects; the perfect army."

"So much for Alliance peace," Dean growled.

"Without one power in control, where is the peace? Look at the war for independence. Ask your father how that went. We don't want to see that happen again, now do we?"

John bared his teeth. Sam saw Dean's hand inching towards his gun.

“This is all wonderful." The woman from before emerged from behind a building, walking towards them. "But let's not linger, hm?" Before any of the Winchester could move, she held out a small device that looked like a blue cylinder. A high pitched whine filled Sam's ears. He acted. He had to do it. He had to . . . had to stop them. There was a voice telling him something, almost strong enough to overpower the impulse, but it wasn't enough. Sam took down the two, distantly feeling his brother cry out before everything went dark. 

* * *

  _Dean shoved him down behind a trash heap._

_"Stay here, didi, and stay quiet, dui? You cannot let them see you, or you will die. I'm not kidding."_

_Sam stared up at his brother, wide-eyed. "Stay, Dean, or you'll die too."_

_Dean's expression was torn. "I can't, Sammy. Dad needs help."_

_There was a scream, and Dean looked away. "I've got to go."_

_"Stay safe," Sam whispered. He stayed hidden as Dean ran off. The dirt was cold. He could hear gunfire in the distance._

_A scream came from nearby. Sam leaned a little, peeking around the debris. One of the monsters was chasing down a kid. No one else was near—Sam darted out of his hiding place, knees shaking as he leveled the shotgun at the reaver. It was too close to the kid, so Sam shouted something incoherent. When it turned, he fired. Aim true, the reaver went down, a heap of limbs and rags. Sam crept close, keeping his gun up like Dad had taught him._

_The reaver . . . it was human. Or once had been. Sam gazed at what might have been a beautiful woman, marred by strange, patterned scars and war paint. Could anyone become a reaver?_

_There was another shout—Dean. Sam looked up, just in time to see another reaver lunging for him. He couldn't get his shotgun up in time before the reaver was on him, strong fingers closing around his neck, a maniacal grin above him before teeth ripped into his shoulder._

_Sam screamed._

_Dean was there, and pulling the reaver off of him, killing it. Sam was scooped up and being carried away before he could say anything. He clutched Dean's jacket, shoulder throbbing with pain._

_"Ni shi da daizi," Dean snapped, even as he got Sam inside the infirmary on the Impala and began cleaning Sam's wound with careful fingers. "What were you thinking?"_

_"Sorry," Sam whispered. "But there was a kid."_

_Dean's wrath appeased a little, his motions slowed as he patched Sam up and doped him on painkillers._

_"Hey." Dean waited until Sam's gaze met his. "You can't save nobody if you're dead."_

_Sam nodded obediently, getting Dean's hand combing through his hair as a reward. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out. "Are reavers human?"_

_Dean's hand went still. "What makes you think that? Sammy, they may have been at one point, but they're evil cannibals. They aren't human anymore."_

_"What if they are? Why can't we help them be good?"_

_Sam watched his brother struggle to come up with an answer. "They're beyond help, Sam."_

_"What if I were to become one?"_

_Dean shook his head. "Normal people don't . . . they don't become reavers, Sammy, something else made them that way."_

_"But what?"_

_"I don't know."_

_Dean's fingers began rhythmically petting through Sam's curls again, and he sighed, staring at the ground. "Is Dad gonna be mad at me?"_

_"You kiddin'? Fifteen and you bagged your first reaver. Get ready for back slaps and alcohol."_

_Sam grinned._

_But he could still picture the reaver's face._  

* * *

 Sam's entire body ached. He groaned, feeling cold floor under his face. He blinked, his eyes taking far too long to focus.

"Dad? D'n?" he slurred.

"You're awake."

His father's short tone was enough to alert Sam that something was very very wrong. He was able to force himself upright. A glass container surrounded him. His family was similarly enclosed in individual cages of their own. “Wha—where are we?"

John had several bruises on his face, as did Dean.

"Your friends brought us here," John said.

Sam automatically glanced at Dean for answers to his confusion, but Dean's face was completely blank and closed off. “Peng you?" he asked. "I don't . . . what's going on?"

"Are you you?"

Sam blinked. "Shenme?"

"You don't remember," Dad murmured. "Interesting."

All Sam wanted was a gorram explanation. He pressed his hand hard against his glass cage, hearing his voice echo. "Remember what? Stop talking in riddles, what's going on?"

"You attacked us," Dad said coldly. "Without hesitating."

Sam gaped at him, stumbling back and hitting the wall. "I did . . . what? I attacked you? Did I hurt you both? Oh—" head swimming, Sam barely had time to lean over before he was emptying his stomach on the floor. He started hyperventilating, fisting his hands in his hair. "I don't remember, what did I do? Weishenme? Wo bu zhidao."

"Sammy, calm down." Some of Dean's coldness had leeched away in response to Sam's panic. "We don't have any solid answers, so you keepin' your head on straight is the thing to do.”

Nodding vigorously in response to Dean’s command only made his head ache. When he touched the sides of his head, his hands came away bloody. His ears had bled. “Dean, what’s happening?”

“I don’t know, Sammy. Focus. When they set you off, do you remember anything? Did your psychic thing get some info from their brains? Like where we are, a secret key . . .”

“We’re on an Alliance ship,” Sam murmured. “I can smell it.”

“Great. So, no way to get free.” Dean blew out a breath, knocking his head against the glass. “Any chance you can go crazy on them when they show?”

The three of them fell silent as a door slid open. Sam shifted his weight so he was ready to attack.

"What are you going to do with us?" Dean growled.

"You two are unnecessary." The man turned to Sam. "You will come with us."

They made their first mistake; they opened the door without immobilizing Sam. He launched himself at the three Alliance, catching one with a fist to the throat and another with a knee to the groin (he wasn't proud of that). The third man caught him with a baton to his kidneys, however, and Sam hit the floor. He bared his teeth, trying to rise, but the blows fell mercilessly. By the end, Sam was staring dazedly up at the ceiling, his family's yells in his ear.

"We may need you alive, but don't underestimate how much we can tear you apart," the man hissed.

Sam opened blood-crusted eyes. Dean was right next to him, separated by a layer of glass. With his remaining strength, he pressed his palm against the glass. Dean's palm was there in a heartbeat.

"It's gonna be okay, Dean," Sam rasped.

"Sammy," Dean started, but then Sam was dragged away, and he couldn't see his brother anymore. 

* * *

  _The spacesuit was a little big for him—it had once been Dean’s—but Sam couldn't be more excited. It was going to be his first spacewalk._

_"C'mon, Dean, hurry up!"_

_"Calm down, dork, we're just going outside." Dean stopped Sam from jumping up and down. "Hey. What's the first rule?"_

_"Don't do anything stupid," Sam recited obediently._

_"That's right. And what are eleven-year olds? Stupid, so maybe we shouldn't do this."_

_"Deeeean."_

_"Boys, enough fooling around. Sam, get your helmet on." John was already suited up. He knelt, checking that both of them had put everything on correctly, and their tethers were secure. "Dean, don't let go of Sam's hand."_

_"I know."_

_Dean was grimacing at the door. Sam tugged on his hand. "Dean, if you don't want to go, I can go with Daddy."_

_"No, squirt, I know you like this stuff. I'll get over it this once."_

_"I'll go first." Their dad sealed off the room, and climbed up to the hatch that led to the top of the Impala. It opened with a hiss, and Dad perched on the lip. "Sammy, climb up." Sam carefully went up, hand over hand. He could feel Dean following him, a hand ghosting every now and then by his legs._

_"Keep hold of this handle until we lock in your boots," Dad said over the com._

_"Yessir." Sam's grip was so tight it felt like his hand was numb._

_"Activating the magnets." With a thud, Sam felt his feet connect with the ship. He lifted up his hand from the handle, giggling a little. "Look, Dean! My arms don't weigh nothing!"_

_"For crying out loud, Sam, keep a grip on something." Dean's hand tightened around Sam's upper arm. "What, you wanna drift off into space and get eaten by the space monkeys?"_

_Sam looked up. As far as he could see, blackness and stars shining down. His breath was loud in the helmet, so he held his breath, for a moment of pure silence and darkness._

_“Shiny,” he whispered._

_"Hey, we done here?"_

_Sam looked at Dean. His brother looked pale through the distortion of his helmet._

_"Dean, you can go back in, I'll stay with Sammy."_

_Dean shook his head. "No, I ain't scared, I just think it's dumb."_

_"It's not dumb." Sam looked up again. "When I grow up, I want to be a star."_

_Dean gave his patent 'my-brother-is-a-gigantic-dork' sigh._

_"We'll double tether you, and you can float. Wanna do that?" Dad asked._

_Sam enthusiastically nodded._

_"Sam has to hold onto my hand the whole time," Dean said._

_"Dean-o, it's perfectly safe."_

_"I don't care." Dean gripped Sam's gloved hand with his own._

_Dad released the lock on Sam's boots, and suddenly his whole body was floating. Sam laughed, giddy with the feeling and the stars above him._

_"Sam, don't be stupid."_

_He looked down to see Dean's green eyes, wide with fear. He smiled._

_"I've got you, Dean, I'm safe."_  

* * *

 "I'm sorry you feel so uncooperative, Sam." A strap came down over Sam's forehead, and then one over his neck. Sam swallowed convulsively, squirming at the choking sensation.

"Why should I line up to be your perfect slave?” he snapped. "You killed Jess."

"An unfortunate loss, yes." The man with blue hands approached, smiling. "But a great sacrifice for the Azazel project. We’ve been waiting until you were in the prime state for . . . well, years now. Your mother could have been a little more cooperative, but she played her part in the end.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “What? My mom? You killed her because . . . because of me?”

The man laughed, reaching out and checking the straps. “Sam, Sam, Sam. Tell me you didn’t put it together yet? Your mother, little Jess, killed by our reavers. Your strange dreams, the fits you have . . . that was all our design. And now, we can finish our greatest weapon. You.”

Sam snarled in rage; a needle descended, piercing his neck and sending lethargy coursing through him.

"We believe in pain, the great purifier. You will not be able to move, but you will feel . . . everything."

There was a whirring sound. Almost like a . . . like a drill. Sam tried to choke out a cry, but couldn't move a muscle. When the drill reached his head, Sam's scream was only in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> qu chi fan-go eat food  
> ni xihuan dou yu-you like all the fish  
> ni shi da daizi-you are an idiot  
> peng you-friend  
> wo bu zhidao-i don't know


	11. Objects in Hell

"Sam," Dean breathed.

His brother was strapped to an operating chair of some kind, blood dripping slowly to the floor from multiple points on his head. Dean swallowed back bile, darting forward past the unconscious Alliance techs.

"Dad, you have a knife?"

"They took mine." John searched around the room, finding a scalpel and bringing it over. "Two minutes at most, son. When we knocked out those guards, no doubt someone heard the commotion."

"Okay, okay." Dean cut through the straps holding his brother down. Inadvertently his eye caught sight of a drill, the bit covered in blood and hair. Dean's stomach twisted again.

Sam lurched upward with a cry.

"Whoa, Sammy! It's me, I'm here."

"No, no, no—" Sam flung himself backwards from them, hands raised. "Please, no, I don't want the pain, wo bu xihuan, mercy."

"Sammy, Sammy," Dean moaned. "Please, you have to come with us. It's me, it's Dean."

Sam's eyes were vague and frantic under his hair. "D-Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy."

"I can hear them all, a million of them, tell them to be quiet."

Dean reached out, wrapping Sam in an embrace. "Easy, mu gou. Trust me?"

Sam nodded, ducking his face into Dean's shoulder.

"We have to find the Impala."

Dean glanced at John. "Wouldn't it still be on Miranda?"

He grimaced. "Maybe, but they could've taken it to sell."

"Bottom floor, southwest corner,” Sam muttered.

Dean flinched, looking at Sam. "What?"

"Home is where the blood is."

"You two get started. I'll cover our tracks." John tossed Dean a com. "Take care of Sammy."

Dean nodded, throat tight. He knew what that meant. "Dad, you could come—"

John shook his head. "I have to do this." He glanced at Sam. "Remember what I told you before, Dean."

With that, he was gone. Dean felt his eyes burn and hid his face in Sam's hair for one second. "C'mon, Sammy, let's go home," he whispered.

He had expected to have to fight their way through the Alliance cruiser. Instead, Sam nudged him from time to time, getting them into a shadowed doorway just as someone walked past, taking them down a maintenance hall, things he couldn't've known.

"There are spiders in my brain," Sam informed him.

"Tai haole, Sammy, but we've gotta go." He smuggled Sam onboard the Impala—thankfully everything seemed intact—shutting the door. "Can you . . . no, I'll fly us out of here."

Sam moaned, dropping to the floor and clutching his head. "The loud is bright."

Dean cursed, but he didn't have time to help Sam. Darting through their ship, he made it up to the bridge and took off—a little rocky flight pattern, sure, but it'd been a while.

The screen showing their rearview let Dean see an explosion rock the Alliance cruiser. He brushed away his tears, and focused on getting him and Sam the hell away from that nightmare. 

* * *

 “Yeah, Bobby.” Dean rubbed his face. “We need a place to lie low.”

“Head on over to Jim’s old place. Haven. They’ll take care of you there.”

Dean nodded. Bobby’s eyes creased. “Are you sure you don’t need anything else?”

“Dad’s dead. They drilled into Sam’s brain,” Dean whispered. “He’s . . . he’s different. I don’t know what to do.”

Bobby swore, looking away. “I don’t know, kid. But I will help. Anything.”

“Thanks.” Dean shut off the wave and rubbed a hand over his face. He turned in the pilot’s chair, starting violently.

“Dammit, Sam, what’s with the sneaking around? Why aren’t you wearing shoes?”

“I need to hear the ship.” Sam murmured.

Dean swallowed. He needed to . . . he needed to take care of Sam.

“You hungry? C’mon, I think we have some foodstuffs.”

Sam followed him silently down the corridor. He had become a ghost of the man Dean used to know. Suddenly feeling weak, he collapsed into a chair. He pressed his eyes shut. They never should’ve gone, it was all his fault. Sam had wanted to turn around, and he’d been right.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Sam sounded startlingly clear. “You didn’t hold the drill.”

“Sammy—“

Sam sat down on the floor next to Dean, wrapping an arm around Dean’s legs so he couldn’t stand up. “If you listen to the song, you can find the needle.”

Dean half-laughed, half-sobbed, “man, you are so crazy.”

Sam peeked up at him through his hair, and smiled. Dean placed a hand on his brother’s head and took a deep breath.

They were still flying. That was enough for now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wo bu xihuan- i don't like  
> tai haole-great
> 
>  
> 
> Whew! The end!


End file.
